


Sweet Home Beacon Hills

by Firenation



Series: Sterek at the Movies [3]
Category: Sweet Home Alabama (2002), Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire, Artist!Derek, Childhood Sweethearts, Everyone's human folks, Flashbacks, Hicksville Beacon Hills, M/M, Mutual Pining, Reunited and It Feels So Good, So many Hales
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-06-09 21:40:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 37,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6924496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Firenation/pseuds/Firenation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The crack of lightning wakes Stiles up from where he’s been sleeping on his papers again. He’s got a bitter taste in his mouth that tastes like a mixture of disappointment and nostalgia for long dusty summers and Derek’s secret recipe ice tea.</p><p>There was no Derek Hale in his Manhattan office, in New York. He was back on the beach aged eleven with bunny teeth and duck tailed hair, and that was more than fine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Racing on the Thunder

**9 AND 11**

_The Hale family property lay ten miles out from nearby civilization, and they liked it that way. Stiles Stilinski, their Derek’s best friend, thought that it was genius, mostly because they had this secluded beach out back which was his to explore._

_Whenever he inevitably snuck on the beach, Derek trailed after Stiles, only because it was his Official Job to get Stiles to stay away from the left side of the big moss rock—_ there are currents, Stiles, those are dangerous mom says so _—and would never be caught dead admitting that the sea thrilled him, because it thrilled Stiles._

_They dared each other to throw rocks across the waves, and the winner got dignity and ultimate Bragging Rights to the other kids at school. Stiles let Derek win every time, because he was the youngest kid in a house of crazies, he needed to have something. Aside from Stiles, because he always had Stiles._

_That’s mostly how they grew up in the tiny hick town of Beacon Hills, chasing each other round the beach, wasting time at school and pranking the local community._

_As they grew up, that pranking habit spread to anyone that would fall for their jokes—Stiles got Derek into some scrapes, but always got him out of them. It was part of his charm and skill as the son of the Sheriff in town._

_One Friday night when they were nine and eleven years old, respectively, they watched a thunder storm way out in the distance. Stiles was awed by the power of the lightning, and the deafening boom of the thunder, and Derek was awed by Stiles._

_Privately, Derek always thought Stiles was cute, in a my best friend is awesome, kinda way, but now he was old enough to realise his crush on Justin Timberlake, was just that, a crush. So Derek wanted to tell Stiles he thought he was handsome and had wanted to for weeks._

_His mom said that was a good word to use,_ handsome _._

_“Do you think we’ll be best friends forever?” Stiles asked Derek, eyes flicking away from the storm for a second._

_Derek’s eyes were like the ocean, Stiles thought, all green and blue and grey, and ever shifting, which was special._

_“Always,” Derek shrugged, like it was no big deal._

_“But you’re going to middle school, Der. Who’s gonna put dead frogs in Miss Lewinski’s desk with me?” Stiles felt abruptly concerned. “Who’ll share their pudding cups with me at lunch?”_

_“Shut up,” Derek nudged him. “Scott won’t leave you alone, I made him promise.”_

_“He’s a different kind of best friend,” Stiles huffed. “You know what I mean.”_

_Derek was quiet as he surveyed Stiles, which was unnerving. Silent Derek usually meant he was thinking about a genius prank, or about to fart. Both were terrifying._

_Stiles was shocked to his core when Derek leaned over to kiss him._

_“What are you doing?”_

_“I just wanted to,” Derek looked sheepish, and with his twang, sounded like dumb Greenburg from school, which was saying something because he misspelled his name on a pop quiz once, and cried like a little baby._

_“Why?”_

_“You’re my best friend,” his cheeks were flushed pink, despite the cool breeze of the sea. “You’re the one who said we’re gonna marry each other when we’re older.”_

_“Like Batman and Robin,” Stiles agreed solemnly. Derek huffed out a laugh._

_“So I’ll be kissing you for the rest of my life,” Derek said, abruptly unsure. “If you want. Only if you want.”_

_Stiles beamed, and this time when Derek leaned in tentatively, he kissed him back._

 

**MODERN DAY**

The crack of lightning wakes Stiles up from where he’s been sleeping on his papers _again_. He’s got a bitter taste in his mouth that tastes like a mixture of disappointment and nostalgia for long dusty summers and Derek’s secret recipe ice tea.

There was no Derek Hale in his Manhattan office, in New York. He was back on the beach aged eleven with bunny teeth and duck tailed hair, and that was more than fine.

Those memories had to stay locked back in Beacon Hills.


	2. Never Out of Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get marginally more complicated.

“It happened again,” Stiles says darkly. Allison pouts sympathetically at where he slumps on top of her neat desk, head cradled in her paper tray. Her desk is just so much more comfortable than his.

“It’s perfectly normal to miss him,” Allison says gently, always the sweetheart.

“Perfectly annoying, you mean. When’s the project development meeting with Kelley supposed to start?”

“I’m not your secretary,” Allison reminds him. In fact, she’s just been promoted to a higher ranking position, and he totally needs to send her some peonies as a congratulations.

“You’re just so much more organised than I am, I always hope you know,” Stiles groans, running a hand through his artfully dishevelled dark hair, because he’s still disturbed by images of a young Derek Hale.

“It started five minutes ago, up on twelfth,” Lydia says smugly, strutting past the desk with a stack of fresh papers.

Stiles yelps and sprints upstairs with less grace than a baby duckling. He knocks into a stray intern and makes her cry.

“The meeting starts in twenty,” Lydia admits. “I just love watching him squirm.”

 

Stiles, despite the insomnia and deep unfamiliarity with the outside world, loves his job. He gets to design new laptops for Apple, and that is the ultimate dream.

So what if he keeps the hours of a doctor at an ER, he gets paid more than the average twenty seven year old _and_ looks good doing it.

He got this job two years ago, straight out of Columbia, freshly scrubbed with a deep Southern drawl to boot. Stiles’s boss, Lydia, beat the drawl out of him in his first month, and since then he hasn’t called his dad out of fear he’ll have a heart attack. He doesn’t want to hear the disappointment in his dad’s tone that he sounds like an average Joe New Yorker, not his special Stiles.

Besides, now he’s trained his dad to be fluent in email, so Stiles calls it a win.

Lydia buys him apologetic coffee after the meeting and he’s pretty sure she does it so she can pick the fluff off his current cardigan ensemble, while they sit up in the airy canteen on tenth.

“You dreamt about him again,” her voice is not a question, and Stiles winces. “Aren’t you using the dream tapes I got you for Christmas?”

“I am, unfortunately,” Stiles sighs. “They just sneak up on me sometimes, like nightmares.”

“Have you told Danny?”

She knows this is his kryptonite, his weak spot, and he knows that his face is flushing red with guilt right now.

“Oh yeah, let me just start with _I can’t get my childhood sweetheart out of my head_ ,” Stiles replies. “I can just imagine how well that’ll go down.”

Lydia shrugs, blackberry in hand. “That is a YP, your problem, Stiles. Now get out of here before I have to sign another excessive shift form for your bony ass.”

“I SoulCycle,” Stiles corrects, offended.

“Muscular and toned ass,” she corrects. “Still, get out of here. Go. I don’t want to see you before ten tomorrow.”

He gives her a half-hearted salute but does as she says, staggers out into a balmy New York evening and starts to count all the stops on the subway in his head. He might, _might_ , just be able to nap.

To his immense surprise, however, there is a huge limousine parked outside of the building. He’d be judging it alongside the catty interns in a heartbeat, but for the chauffeur holding up a sign saying, _Stiles Carter._

He doesn’t even flinch at the name, it’s his now, and much easier to introduce himself instead of Stiles Stilinski. Besides, Beyoncé.

The chauffeur, a pleasant granddad looking guy, opens the door and ushers him inside.

“Hey you,” Stiles says cheerfully when he realises a grinning Danny is sat on the plush leather interior.

“How was work?” Danny asks after a brief kiss.

The limousine wastes no time and is off on some unspoken route by the time Stiles sets down his satchel.

“Work,” Stiles shrugs. “You?”

Danny works in social media. He's an actual human ray of sunshine, tailor made for the job, people love to see what he gets up to on the regular. He reviews yoga spots, food carts and bars across town. Stiles would never admit it but it can be a little tiring to take photos on every single date they go on and be swamped by photographers when they go out together. It's uncomfortable to have his name on  _E! Online,_ largely because he can hear Scott and his dad laughing at him from New York. He doesn't ever let himself think about whether Derek sees the articles. 

"I found a great pizza place on Coney Island, Jackson did the shots," Danny drawls. Jackson's name wants to make him roll his eyes but he reins it in; Danny's best friend is the biggest jerk  _and_ happens to drool over Lydia whenever they're in the same room, which can make her feel uncomfortable sometimes.  On the other times she loves it and milks it for all its worth. 

“Cute,” Stiles singsongs, eyes on the city around them.

Stiles knows the place like the back of his hand and even he doesn’t know the backwards route this driver is taking them home.

“Not that I don’t love this murder mystery thing we’re doing here, where the heck are we going?” Stiles has to tone down his accent on the _heck._ Southern oozes out of him sometimes, and it’s hard to rein back in.

“Secret,” Danny waggles his ears at Stiles, which is cute and all, but infuriating all the same.

Straight, honest, or sarcastic answers are all Stiles wants in life. Heck, Derek was the most straight-talking boy back home…

He stops himself before the thought fully takes form. That is a banned topic.  

“Awesome,” Stiles says, with a touch too much enthusiasm.

They sit in silence, Stiles wracked with guilt, until the limousine screeches to a stop outside the biggest Apple store in the city.

Stiles is officially curious.

When they step through the doors, they are met by store workers clutching daisies—Stiles’ favourite kind of flower, because they were his mom’s. To see them here chokes him up, for a second. He's abruptly at her funeral again, the smell cloying and overwhelming. 

“What’s going on?” he feels and sounds a touch uneasy.

Danny looks thrilled, and with a click of his fingers, some classic Ed Sheeran softly filters through the store.

It’s like he’s in a trance when Danny gets down on one knee and brings out a silver band, studded with one tiny diamond.

“Will you marry me?” Danny asks, grinning and thrilled.

 

**15 AND 17**

_“That was such a close call,” Stiles panted, glancing over the top of Miss Smooter’s topiary bush. Derek looked adorably stern for a seventeen year old._

_“Why do you feel the need to steal her damn garden gnomes?” Derek’s exasperated tone is nothing new, he’s said this like five times already._

_“She pushed in front of me at the market the other day,” Stiles said, because that is the southern version of vicious swearing. “Besides, he’s kinda cute.”_

_Derek eyed the cheerful green thing with distaste._

_“I’ll give him to Gramma Edith Hale,” Stiles decided, ignoring Derek’s outraged hiss._

_“You cannot do that, Gramma E should_ not _be brought into this,” Derek stated. “No, Stiles, I am putting my foot down.”_

_“She loves me,” Stiles bragged, starting down the street. Derek had a headache erupt between his eyebrows, and blamed Stiles solely for it._

_“So she doesn’t need the gnome to know that,” Derek argued._

_“She hates Miss Smooter and her damn gnomes more than I do, Der, because she beat her last year in the Pie-Off_ and _disagreed with her at the Fall Town Vote, remember?”_

_Derek groaned with recognition. “You can’t encourage her then!”_

_“Bite me,” Stiles snapped without any heat, but took off at a sprint down the street to Gramma Edith’s house, presumably._

_“DON’T YOU DARE STILINSKI!” Derek shouted and gave chase._

_“DON’T TELL ME HOW TO LIVE MY LIFE,” Stiles shouted back, laughing harder._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was just dying to get this out guys, I'm sorry.


	3. Can you believe it?

**15 AND 17**

_“Do not mock Mr and Mrs Stevenson in front of my mom,” Derek told Stiles severely. The pair were 82 years old, and okay, sometimes didn’t shower or put their dentures in, but still. They were adorable._

_Stiles shot him a dark look from where he was about to serve the most precious six year old in the world. She entrusted him to put nine thin mints into a fragile paper bag, and it’s a huge deal._

_The Hale Family Cookie Drive was a once a year event that the entire town turned out for. They sold cookies to raise money for the homeless shelter downtown, and Stiles has helped with it for as long as he can remember, even when he was a gummy two year old making music with Tupperware boxes on the family lawn._

_“You spray painted their lawn last summer,” Stiles reminded him. The tips of Derek’s ears went very red. “With a very big dick.”_

_“You_ dared _me,” Derek hissed._

_“I have no recollection of that happening, y’know.”_

_“Sometimes I forget why I love you,” Derek said._

_However, when he watched Stiles beam at old Mrs Stevenson and made her blush, he remembered why he’s loved him for as long as he can remember._

_“They’re so cute,” Laura sighed as she fetched the caramel cookies from their stash, and spotted the Stevensons as they hobbled back home, hand in hand._

_“We’ll get there some day,” Derek said quietly, meeting Stiles’ warm eyes from across the table._

_“Obviously,” Stiles scoffed, and helped himself to a thin mint from the box._

_Derek made an offended sound until Stiles shoved the other half in his mouth._

**MODERN DAY**

“Danny, I don’t know what to say,” Stiles starts, floored by the attention they’re receiving.

It’s not every day an Upper East Side Socialite gets married, after all, and Danny’s been a hot commodity since he turned eighteen, so the people in the store are _invested_ in the pair.

“Yes usually works,” Danny angles, and Stiles panics.

He thinks about the times Danny’s come home and found him asleep on the couch, and put a blanket over him. When they’ve met for lunch and it’s felt like the only relief in his day, and how their Netflix evenings feel like the only moment of quiet sanity in Stiles’s life.

“Yes,” Stiles says, because it’s the right thing to do and he loves Danny, he does.

Danny’s grinning and there are people shrieking with delight and Stiles has never felt more confused in his entire life.

The next day he calls in sick, and has to explain to Allison why he’s too busy to come into work, for the first time in two years.

“Oh, Stiles,” Allison sighs.

“So glad you’re happy for my engagement,” Stiles says dryly.

“You and I both know why I’m not,” Allison points out, and wow, he hates how reasonable she is. It’s so _unnecessary._

“Anyway, I just wanted to let Lydia know why. Please ensure she doesn’t eviscerate me tomorrow.”

 Stiles’s head is throbbing, and it’s because he hasn’t had his triple shot espresso this morning. Danny is more of a green tea kinda guy, and Stiles prefers to avoid his nagging so goes without his caffeine fix.

“No promises,” Allison says, and hangs up on him.

“How’d she take it?” Danny asks from across the room, where he’s decided on his tux for their meeting with his mom in half an hour.

“Great,” Stiles lies, voice bland. “Just great.”

There’s silence for a couple beats while Danny checks his cell, then a thought appears to occur to him.

“We haven’t told your dad yet,” Danny says, as if the thought is miraculous to him. “We really should call him.”

Stiles’s stomach twists in horror at the very thought.

“It’s the kinda news that needs to be told to your face, don’t you think honey?”

The honey slips out before he can stop it, and Danny smirks, endlessly amused by his southernisms.

“So we’re going down to Alabama?”

The thought of Danny in his local 7-11 makes Stiles break out in a cold sweat, and that’s not because he’s pretty sure Isaac Lahey still works there.

“ _I’m_ catching a flight on Saturday,” Stiles tells him. “I haven’t seen my dad in five years, I don’t want to also spring my fiancé on him at the same time. He’s got a weak heart, you know.”

Two days from now. He needs to work on his drawl.

“I get it,” Danny shrugs, and Stiles’s chest warms. Danny is such a nice guy. “At least you’ll get to see my mom again before you go.”

 

Mama Mahealani is a psychopath.

No really, for all that Danny is sweet, chilled and caring, his mother is controlling, fickle and manipulative. His dad though, is a sweetheart.

She’s a Supreme Court Justice and the toughest woman Stiles has ever met. He’s pretty sure if he put Lydia, his old high school friend Erica and Mrs Mahealani in the room, they would take over the planet.

Against Stiles’s will, or perhaps in spite of it, she does a press conference outside the Mahealani Manor in upper New York to announce their engagement. Apparently there will be a feature on their relationship in the _New York Times_ ’ Marriage Section, for the day after tomorrow, and Danny is happy with this, like any normal person.

For Stiles though, he has to get home before the paper goes out to print, mostly because his dad has a subscription for the _New York Times_ so he can keep up to date with Stiles’s day to day environment. He’s on his phone and rescheduling his flight for midnight before he even realises.

When Danny ships him off at JFK that night, he gets a kiss and a baloney sandwich.

Stiles boards his plane feeling more scared than he ever has before, and the new, shiny silver band on his ring finger feels like dead weight.  

 

**17 AND 19**

_“Marry me?” Derek asked, one muggy night in August, while they sat on the beach and watched the waves lap on the sand._

_The radio played a slow dance song in the background, and it was the closest to content Derek ever felt, especially while he worked at his Uncle Peter’s manic body shop. This was his favourite spot in the entire town, and though he would never admit in public, he’s with his favourite person._

_Stiles was counting the constellations in the sky, but now Derek’s got his full attention._

_“It’s you,” Derek shrugged. “It’s always been you.”_

_“Why, Mr Hale, you’re getting all sentimental,” Stiles said, surprised. Derek grinned, a flash of sunlight._

_“You are the best thing that’s ever been mine,” Derek told him, oddly formal. “Will you be my partner for the rest of my life?”_

_Stiles thought about how they’ve spent decades running on this beach, a few years making out on it, and in that entire time, he’s loved the shit out of the wild boy he’s sat next to. How he doesn’t want to love anyone else, because that boy right there, has his heart. Probably always will do.  It didn't even matter that the law wouldn't recognise a marriage between them, they would figure something out. They always figured things out._

_“Of course I’ll marry you, idiot,” Stiles said, laughing. They smiled as they kissed, and if they both cried, there was no one around to judge them._


	4. Make a Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's an angsty one, sorry guys :)

**19 AND 21**

_“I know, dad,” Stiles sighed and scrubbed a hand through his hair. Another reminder about unpaid car parking tickets, and Stiles would have to get it tattooed on his ass. Maybe then Derek would quit parking the truck on the yellow lines outside Peter’s body shop._

_He can’t tell Derek what to do, and if the last few months have proved anything, it’s that he doesn't listen to a word Stiles had to say._

_“You wouldn’t be worrying about this stuff if you’d gone to Columbia,” his dad added, almost like an afterthought. It was like a kick in the stomach._

_I wouldn’t be worrying about the end of my marriage, either, Stiles thought, and hung up on his dad._

_Stiles paced their home for thirty minutes afterwards, and contemplated his life. His miserable, boring and frustrating life, with no college education and no job._

_Derek was out, again, probably drinking with his brothers and their high school friends._

_When Derek put on his leather jacket every evening to go to the bar with them, Stiles always wanted to ask him to stay. But he wasn’t about to be that fucking needy._

_Derek did what he wanted to do._

_Before he’d left that evening, actually, Derek sneered at Stiles’s spot on the couch._

_“Are you gonna do anything with yourself?”_

_The barb stung. It was hard not to blame Derek for not doing anything with himself, but he’d chosen this path, and he had to commit to it now._

_The married life so far meant the unemployed life, with his GPA and High School credits rotting in the back room, with College Offers gathering dust, despite several extensions from Columbia. He’d tried to get a job in town, but there was nothing he really wanted to do, and employers could tell._

_“We can’t be all like you, with your high flying job. Why don’t you go drink yourself happy? God knows I’m not making you happy anymore.” Stiles was surprised by the bitterness in his tone._

_Derek staggered like he’d been shot and slammed out of the house, leaving Stiles sitting very alone, embarrassed and angry._

_The phone rang and interrupted his stewing over their earlier fight._

_“Hi?” Stiles asked, breathless and hopeful for Derek to be on the other end. He was like a habit he just couldn’t quit, Derek Hale._

_“Is this Mr Stilinski? We have a Mr Hale here in ICU and you’re on his emergency file as his husband—is this correct?”_

_Stiles felt numb. “Yes.”_

_“We need you to come down to Saint Mary’s as soon as you can, Mr Stilinski. The doctors will meet you on the second floor and explain the situation to you.”_

_He’d left before she even finished the damn sentence._

_Derek was hooked up to monitors and an IV dripped fluids into his body. His face was blotched by bruises, he’d broken a hip, several ribs and all the bones in his left arm. His painting hand._

_He looked naked and vulnerable, and Stiles had strong recollections of Derek aged six with bunny teeth and bowl cut hair that made his chest hurt._

_The Hales paced the waiting room behind him, and he could hear the beep of the heart monitor, but it wasn’t enough to reassure him that Derek would probably be fine. He hated hospitals, ever since his mom, and to see the love of his life in one was horrific._

_The doctors said he’d been t-boned at a local intersection and that he was lucky to even be alive, and it was all Stiles’s fault. They hadn’t said the last part, but it was clear they couldn’t understand why his husband wasn’t at the scene of the accident with him, and why Derek had had a bunch of daises in his front seat._

_“No idea,” he choked out, while Laura narrowed her eyes at him from two seats away._

_Stiles shook himself out of it and decided to get a coffee. He was unlikely to sleep until Derek was awake and complaining grumpily about hospital jello._

_He knew Laura followed him when she huffed behind him—she was like Derek in that way, able to creep up on Stiles from miles out._

_“I’ve stayed quiet this far, but I can’t let it go on,” Laura started, and Stiles waited for her explosive tirade. He was too numb to argue back, or defend himself. Heck, he knew that she probably had a point._

_“He shouldn’t be trying to get away from you, he shouldn’t look miserable all the damn time, and definitely should be working anywhere but Peter’s. He had potential, Stiles, you’ve seen him draw. Why does he seem trapped all the time, at work and home?”_

_Stiles shook his head._

_“It’s you,” she sounded sad. “He feels like he’s got to keep your household going because no one else will. When was the last time he even painted? He’s so damaged right now.”_

_Stiles realised with a bolt of horror, he had no idea when Derek had last expressed himself with his drawings and paintings, once a regular occurrence in his childhood._

_“I think you guys need to get some counselling or something, and you need to look harder into getting a job…Where are you going?” She called after him._

_He made a break for it, sprinted out the hospital and into his Jeep, where he dry heaved into the passenger seat._

_The drive home was a blur, and their dark house looked unfamiliar and unwelcoming. It knew what he had done, and even worse, what he was about to do._

_Stiles threw his things together in a duffle bag, leaving anything he didn’t need, like their prom photo and wedding ring and joint checking details._

_Stiles left the Jeep outside the house and walked to the train station. The walk was cool and refreshing, and if anything, hardened his resolve. He had to do this for Derek and himself._

_He was no good staying in Beacon Hills with Derek. He just held Derek back, bad luck followed in his footsteps, and besides, maybe even Derek held him back._

_Maybe he could do better and bigger than this entire town. Maybe he couldn’t, but he could definitely leave and do less damage by removing himself from the equation; after all, Derek wouldn’t be forced out drinking every evening if he wasn’t around._

_He bought the train ticket to New York City with some of his savings, and sat at the station._

_Images of Derek bed bound and injured stuck with him and tormented him. He’d left him alone in that big place, but again, that was probably for the best. The Hales took care of their own._

**MODERN DAY**

They’ve done up the airport since he last saw it, Stiles thinks, and immediately regrets returning when he hears the first ‘ _y’all’._

He chooses a Mercedes as a rental, and he doesn’t even think twice before choosing to go to Derek’s place. The sooner he gets the damn divorce, the sooner he can go home and get back to work. And to Danny. Especially to Danny.

The dirt track to the house is a little more maintained than it was five years ago, but as the house looms into view it _feels_ the same as it always did.

Seeing the truck in the drive is like a kick to the stomach, and he’s not sure he can do this. The Jeep’s absence is just as upsetting.

Stiles looks up into the windows of the big, beach home, and feels himself deflate. A rush of memories float back, and his chest abruptly constricts.

The shutters have been painted a dark navy, and it compliments the white front of the place. It feels like no time’s passed since he was walking away from this world.

“DEREK,” he hollers, convinced he’s somewhere in the house.

A small bundle of tan and black fur emerges from nowhere and hurls itself at his legs, yapping ferociously like the cutest, fluffiest cannon ball ever. Stiles tickles _her_ soft belly, and melts like butter in a microwave when she licks his hand.

“Sorry about her,” a voice says, voice more content than he’s ever heard it, but still with the familiar drawl that makes Stiles feel like he’s home. “How can I help?”

Stiles gets to his feet and looks Derek straight in the eyes, ignoring the way his cheeks colour and hands go clammy.

Derek’s ocean coloured eyes widen as he takes in Stiles’s longer scruffy hair, his sleek jeans and broader shoulders; immediate recognition clicks into place.

“You can start by giving me the damn divorce, Derek.”


	5. Burning Red

**MODERN DAY**

“You can start by getting off my property, Stiles,” Derek replies, right off the bat. Derek’s mouth seems to caress around Stiles’s name, but that might be his imagination.

“I just need you to sign these papers,” he waves the divorce papers he’s brought from New York. “That’s all, then I'll go.”

“Get out before I call the cops,” Derek says simply, and walks back in the house.

Stiles instinctively follows, because he can’t say no and genuinely, he’s not sure he can go without seeing Derek’s face again because he’s just got it back. Stiles still feels breathless at the sight of Derek’s familiarity, and has to shake off the feeling that he’s home now.

“Stop being stubborn and just sign them. I’ll leave you alone if you sign them,” Stiles says, as he turns a corner and faces the interior of their old home.

Nothing’s changed, he notes, not even the photos of them up on the mantel piece. They’re grinning and shining in their frames, and Stiles heart, stupidly, surges with hope.

“Why should I?” Derek smirks. “It’s nothin’ to me if I’m divorced or married.”

Stiles grinds his teeth, because Derek is as annoying as ever.

“Why would you want to stay married to me?” Stiles asks. “After what I did—I’d want to run to the hills at the prospect of staying with me.”

That particular truth hurts to admit, makes his chest feel hollow and dead. Derek shrugs, that smug smirk still playing at his lips and Stiles can feel a headache blossoming.

“This way you don’t get what you want,” Derek states. “Now get out of my property before I call the cops.”

“You’re like a freaking broken record,” Stiles seethes.

Derek, to his credit, just smirks and shrugs. He ventures to another room and Stiles follows, like a puppy drawn to his owner. Derek goes to their room and starts peeling off his clothes then and there, entirely shameless.

Stiles turns around and stares at the wall. Now is not the time to pop a boner over Derek’s masterpiece of a body.

“Please, just sign the damn divorce papers,” Stiles starts, abruptly unsure if he needs to tell Derek about Danny. He doesn’t want to.

“Not my problem,” Derek says in his ear, instantly close enough to feel the burning heat of his skin and it makes Stiles shudder. Derek seems to breathe in Stiles’s scent, and Stiles can smell him, all woodsy musk and mint. The familiarity makes him physically ache. 

It must be unintentional, Stiles rationalises, because he moves away swiftly back to the sitting room.

“You’re a catch,” Stiles tries. “Surely you’d want to get married again, like at some point.”

Derek’s eyes narrow and he knows he’s caught a nerve there.

“I'm not the one who's engaged to an Upper East Side Socialite with a Supreme Court Justice for a mom,” Derek says.

Stiles flushes with colour. The house must’ve got Wi-Fi since he was last here, props for Derek for doing his research.

“You heard,” Stiles says.

“Yeah I heard,” Derek says, eyes narrowed, and still talking like Stiles personally betrayed him, which isn’t too far off. “What the hell Stiles?”

“I haven’t spoken to you in years I’m not just gonna call you up out of the blue and be like, _hey Derek, it’s the husband who abandoned you but no big deal I’ve fallen in love again, do me a favour and give me a quickie divorce_ ,” Stiles argues, face blotchy with colour.  He feels instantly terrible.

Derek blanches when he says _fallen in love_ , then schools his face into composure. Stiles likes to call it his no comment, no emotion face, and it’s still stupidly endearing.

He picks up the phone and calls the cops while Stiles watches, mouth wide open in outrage.

He decides to not leave, wait it out, because he can’t be trespassing when his name in on the freaking deed and they’re still married.

It’s a terse silence waiting for the cops to turn up, filled by Stiles’s outraged _huffs_ and Derek’s judgemental eyebrows and the dog whining at them both to make up already.

To his delight, it’s Boyd who shows up on the doorstep.

There’s an awkward hug, and Boyd doesn’t look thrilled to see Stiles, but he doesn’t look like he’s about to arrest him any time soon.

“I’m here so he’ll sign the divorce papers, that’s it,” Stiles says, hands gesturing. He watches Derek follow his hands with hawk precision, and flush.

“It’s private property, Stiles, you’re gonna have to leave,” Boyd says, voice professional.

Derek and Stiles are standing close to one another, both antagonised and bitter, and the heat coming off Derek is something else. He feels more than sees Derek’s triumphant smirk.

“My name’s on the deed, I paid half the deposit money and I’ve paid half of the mortgage on this place,” Stiles protests. Stiles doesn’t know why he’s trying to stay so bad, he knows it’s petty and the house isn’t emotionally his, but Derek can’t just make him leave, it's absurd.

“That’s a pickle,” Boyd says and scratches behind his ear.

“He hasn’t lived here for five years and it’s a _pickle_ ,” Derek says, voice heavy with sarcasm.

“I still have my key, actually,” Stiles realises and goes to the door. He turns the key in the lock, and he’s not sure why Derek didn’t change the locks after what he did.

Boyd smiles.

“It’s technically half his property Derek,” Boyd says uncomfortably. “I’d say this is a domestic rather than trespass on private property. Has he ever tried to hit you, Derek?”

Derek looks at Stiles, eyes abruptly soft and mouth less of a firm line. “No, he’s never done anything like that.”

“Then I can’t help. Y’all need to sort your issues out yourself.” Boyd makes towards the door and can’t stop shaking his head at their stupidity.

“Wait, isn’t there still an arrest warrant out for the time your mama’s truck was driven into the lake?” Derek says abruptly. Stiles sucks in an outraged breath.

“You _wouldn’t,_ ” he hisses. Derek smirks.

“You’ve got your guy right here,” Derek says earnestly. “Shame about that Chevy, I always thought it ran well.”

“So did my mama,” Boyd says.

As simple as that, he’s in handcuffs and in the back of Boyd’s police vehicle.

Stiles mouths, _I hate you_ at Derek across the porch, and he shoots the bird in reply.

 

**19 AND 21**

_Derek was out the hospital after a few weeks, bandaged up tight, but mostly functional._

_He stayed at his mom and dad’s even so, because he could not face the prospect of returning across the lake to his and Stiles’s place. He saw it sometimes when the weather was just right, the shadow of his house waiting like a ticking time bomb._

_He remembered Laura and his mom coming in to tell him Stiles had left. He remembered curling in on himself like a wilting flower, and crying for a while. They patted his hair and stayed with him all night, that time._

_Regularly, he tried to call Stiles’s cell, but his voicemail box was always full. Next time he tried, the number was disconnected, and felt untethered out in the world, alone._

_He was furious when Laura told him what she’d said and loudly shouted her down in the hospital room. She’d left in tears while he seethed alone._

_His dad came and saw him in hospital after the Laura incident and the normally quiet thoughtful man, like Derek most out of anyone, had a lot to say._

_“Your sister had no right to stick her nose where it didn’t belong,” he agreed, voice gentle, a wild contrast to Derek’s barely contained fury._

_“But she did it because she was scared and stressed. She thought it would make Stiles snap out of that thunder cloud he’s been livin’ under and make life easier for both of you when you get out of here._

_Obviously, it didn’t work and it may have scared him away, and your mama’s had words about that. But Stiles is a grown ass man. His decisions are his own, and that is not your fault, that’s no one’s fault. That’s his issue.”_

_“I don’t know what to do,” Derek said, sad and exhausted. Unwelcome tears trickled out of the corners of his eyes and his dad patted his hand._

_“You’ll figure yourself out, always have,” his dad shrugged. “Come back and live with us for a while, I’ll turn the outhouse into a studio for you. You can stay until you’re back on your feet, and we’ll talk then about how you are gonna live your life according to your rules.”_

_“Stiles is gone,” Derek said, and it felt like the first time he’d admitted it out loud._

_“And he may never want to come back,” his dad agreed solemnly. “But you, Derek James Hale, will be fine. Just keep him in here—” at this he patted Derek’s heart. “And get on with things, try keep yourself busy. Before you know it you won’t be trying, and you’ll be just fine.”_

_“Thanks dad,” Derek said, drifting back to sleep. The painkillers were affecting his concentration wildly, but he wanted to sleep without Stiles dreams for a while, and they were the best thing for it._

_“I’ll be here when you wake up,” his dad promised, and Derek was asleep._


	6. Break a Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Southern hospitality just isn't what it used to be.

**MODERN DAY**

“Hey dad,” Stiles sighs, when he’s got his five minutes at the battered phone in the police department. So far, he’s been crammed in a prison cell and wolf-whistled by girls he knew from high school and he’s sweating pretty bad.

“Stiles!” His dad sounds intensely surprised, almost like he hadn’t spoken to his son on the phone for five years, which is exactly what has happened.

He had images of walking into the station and his dad sitting at his desk, but thankfully, his dad’s shift finished twenty minutes before he’d turned up. Stiles was sure he wouldn’t appreciate having to come back to his place of work, especially facing his work buddies knowing they’ve processed Stiles.

He’s been told his mug shot’s especially cute. He thinks Officer Sarah was joking.

“Why’re you calling?” His dad doesn’t sound entirely happy to hear from him, and he flashes back to the last stunted, awkward email they sent each other, which was short even by their standard.

“I’m in jail,” Stiles says uncomfortably.

“I’m not coming all the way to New York to bail you out, kid.”

“Um…I’m downtown. In the cells. _Your_ cells. Beacon Hills, I mean. Alabama.”

What follows is the most awkward silence Stiles has ever heard.

“Off second street—”

“Stiles, I know where my precinct is,” his dad says. “I’ll be there in ten.”

He thinks he’d rather stay and chance it with the aggressively friendly prostitute in the corner.

 

The car ride is stony and quiet. He keeps opening his mouth to say something, anything, but his dad’s tired, disappointed look shuts him up every time.

They didn’t even hug when they met.

Stiles notes his dad’s eyes have wrinkles they didn’t before, and his mouth turns down at the corners. He’s missed his dad’s aging, and that feels so wrong.

They stop at an intersection and Stiles gets distracted by the loud Fall Out Boy music the next car over. A violently blonde girl is just jamming out to the music, no shits given, and he thinks she looks like fun.

Then she glances over, and he realises it’s none other than Miss Erica Mary Reyes from high school, blonde bombshell that she is. She clearly realises at the same time.

“NO FUCKING WAY—” she gets out before his dad floors the gas and escapes.

Stiles gulps. That might be the only person in Beacon Hills who’s actually happy to see him.

His dad sighs in the silence, and he dreads pulling up to their house because that’s when the shouting will probably start.

 

He’s wrong. There’s no shouting, just sullen disappointment, which is worse. The house hasn’t changed one bit, and it’s like he’s a sixteen year old delinquent all over again.

“Why did you come home?” his dad asks. “Derek’s doing real great, he’s doing his art and this won’t do him any good, Stiles.”

“I just want him to sign the divorce papers I asked him to _four years ago._ ” Stiles groans. “I don’t see how that’s unfair? I’m literally giving him the space he deserves. Like you said, he’s doing so awesome, surely he won’t want to be tied down to me. I’m doing him a favour as much as I’m doing myself one.”

“Are you seriously that dense?” his dad asks.

“Apparently,” Stiles mutters.

“Stiles, he doesn’t need you to rub yourself and the accident in his face. It took him a long time to get over that, and he doesn’t need remindin’ of it now,” his dad replies, and this is when Stiles gets angry.

“You’re actin’ like I didn’t _cry_ for months,” Stiles says. “Like I didn’t live in my sweat pants for days at a time and eat Cheetos and do _nothing._ He’s not the only one who suffered after I left.”

“No, he’s not,” his dad says, evidently weary, and Stiles loses all fight.

“I just want him to sign the papers and I’ll leave, I promise.”

“What’s the point in coming if you’re only gonna stay for two days?” His dad asks gruffly. “Stay as long as you want, kid.”

He aches inside. “Thanks, dad.”

“Now have a shower and go to bed, I need to call a few people,” his dad says. “By the way, congratulations on the engagement. You happy?”

Stiles nods.

“I’ll make some bologna cake tomorrow as a congratulations,” his dad says gruffly, and cuffs the back of his head to draw him in for a hard Stilinski hug. “Now get outta here.”

It’s a blatant dismissal, and Stiles takes it and escapes to his room.

It’s dusty, but it still smells like home. There are photos of him and Derek at the prom, at their wedding, growing up with face paint on, and he puts them face down, one at a time.

Once showered, he settles on his bed in his softest sweatpants.

 _Home now,_ he texts Danny, before realising how insensitive that sounds. _Miss you._

 _I’m living in a nightmare,_ he texts Allison, and falls asleep before either replies.

 

 

**13 AND 15**

_“How did you do this?” Derek asked, horrified._

_The stacks of books in the local community library were toppled on their sides, books spilled on the floor, and Stiles and Scott looked sheepish._

_“We were playing capture the flag, see, and some idiot put it on a high shelf,” Scott explained._

_“Some genius,” Stiles corrected and smirked. “You’re so short you were never gonna see it.”_

_Scott made an outraged sound. “Am not!”_

_Derek rubbed his forehead where his glasses were giving him a headache. He was trying to study for a trigonometry quiz, and he felt bone deep shattered._

_“Just fix it before Mrs Harris comes back in,” Derek told them, with little room for arguing._

_“Actually, my mom’s outside,” Scott shrugged. “Sorry guys but I’m gonna have to rain check this one.”_

_Derek and Stiles’s eyebrows do some deep judging of Scott’s life decisions._

_“We’ll sort it out,” Stiles finally said, grumpy._

_Scott beamed at them both and escaped._

_“He’s officially been demoted to acquaintance,” Stiles muttered. “Wanna make out?”_

_Derek shrugged. “Sure.”_

_That was how the librarian found them thirty minutes later, and parents were called. They sat outside the office and played cards Derek produced from his pocket. Stiles couldn't crack cribbage yet, which was endlessly amusing to Derek._

_When the situation was explained to them, Talia Hale looked tired but amused, and Sheriff Stilinski was incredulous._

_“I don’t see the problem, they’ll clear up the books,” Talia said._

_“Agreed. I’ve got work I should be getting to, and I’m sure Talia’s the same,” the Sheriff sighed. “They’ll clear up the mess, I’ll make sure of it.”_

_“That’s not the issue,” the librarian stuttered. “They were kissing.”_

_She said the word like it was disgusting._

_“And?” Talia’s voice turned hard._

_“They’re boys,” the librarian’s voice squeaked in outrage._

_“Glad you noticed,” the Sheriff said. “And?”_

_“I would like to think an educated woman like yourself, Doris, would see past ancient prejudices,” Talia Hale sighed. “And small-minded views.”_

_Doris visibly bristled._

_“See here, Mrs Hale, this is my library and I won’t stand for any of that passing through my doors,” Doris’s nose was in the air._

_“I was afraid it would come to this,” Talia sighed. “See, I’m on the board of trustees for this library, actually, all the libraries in the county. I’m close personal friends with the mayor, Derek’s godfather, and I’m sure he’d be very interested in the fact our local friendly librarian happens to be a bigot.”_

_“Besides, you can’t bar my son or his boyfriend from a public space,” the Sheriff added. “I want you to apologise to our sons. Make it quick, I’ve got to go and inspect some claims about local residents paying their taxes late.”_

_Doris had gone deathly white._

_“You heard him,” Talia said sweetly. “I’d also like a written apology within the week.”_

**MODERN DAY**

When Stiles wakes up the next morning, it’s with a deep sense of confusion, and it takes him a few seconds to realise his surroundings. He’s home.

He wishes the thought didn’t churn his stomach.

After scouring the cupboards for food, he decides to run a few errands, check his e-mail in town, and maybe make it back to Derek’s before the afternoon.

Stiles forgets that in small towns, you can genuinely run into your cousin, your preacher, your aunt and an ex mother in law all in one grocery store.

He soon perfects the art of _Oh I’m only home for a couple days, yeah I know what I did to Derek was awful and no, I’m engaged,_ before he even leaves the store.

In the car park, he bumps into a familiar blonde, red lipsticked face that he has genuinely missed seeing every day. She shrieks and dives into his arms and he whirls her round like they’re in a movie from the eighties. It's not like she's Beacon Hills' best Doctor for nothing, after all. 

“What the heck are you doing back?” she asks, but not before punching him in the arm really hard for leaving her and begrudgingly, ‘the Derek thing’.

“I need the divorce sorted,” he admits, scratching his head. It doesn’t get less embarrassing every time he says it, he’s discovered.

“Derek still hasn’t signed it? That boy is madder than a wet hen.” Erica clucks her tongue in irritation, or the imitation of a hen, Stiles isn’t sure but appreciates the sentiment all the same.

“That’s what I said. I’ve a mind to go and see Finstock—can you _believe_ that lunatic became a lawyer?!—and get him on the case,” Stiles sighs at the thought.

“Oh, I wouldn’t do that,” Erica says, abruptly concerned.

“Why’s that?” he asks, confused.

“Hello, Stiles,” a woman says, and he turns and it’s Mrs Talia Hale, looking stern as always with Derek’s ocean grey eyes.

“Can we talk?”


	7. In Love All Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Stiles could have guessed, Talia Hale is the last person he would've ever thought to say something like that. 
> 
> “You can’t be serious,” Stiles says. 
> 
> Behind them, he thinks Erica is live tweeting the entire affair.

**5 AND 7**

_He was shipped off to the Hale’s for dinner, and it was a relief to escape his house._

_“Oh Stiles,” Talia sighed. He liked Mrs Hale, and not just because she’s Derek’s mom. She regularly made him cookies and made faces at people behind their backs when they weren’t looking._

_Best of all, she was his mom’s best friend, and this meant that he got to call her Aunt Talia. Aunt T, if she was in a good mood._

_She hugged him hard and he had to swallow back tears. She was one of the few people that knew his mom’s chemotherapy started that morning, and she hadn’t stopped being sick since._

_“You know I’ll always be here for you and your mom,” she elbowed him lightly, and he wondered if the twinkle in her eye was a tear or two. “I promised her a long time ago I’d take care of you, and nothing changes that.”_

_“Even though I’m a Stilinski?”_

_“You can be a Stilinski-Hale,” she winked. “Don’t tell your dad. Do you want a cookie?”_

_He helped himself to one of her chocolate peanut butter chip cookies._

_“Will my mom be okay?” he mumbled through a mouthful._

_Her eyes—Derek’s eyes, weirdly—softened at him._

_“She better be,” Mrs Hale said. “Or she’ll have to answer to me!”_

_Stiles laughed guiltily. Abruptly satisfied, she ruffled his fluffy hair._

_“Go find Derek, will you? He’s struggling with that puzzle again,” she sighed like it was the most frustrating thing in her day._

_Stiles nodded and toddled off to find his favourite Hale._

_When he left, Talia put her head in her hands and sobbed like a baby. God only knew how she would survive without Ania Stilinski._

**MODERN DAY**

“Sure,” Stiles sighs.

Erica looks like she wants to hurl.

Talia draws him a few feet away from Erica, and quietly observes him for a few moments. She smiles gently, like he’s a skittish animal, and he feels like he’s three years old again admitting _he_ broke her antique vase. 

“How are you dear?”

Stiles basically falls apart like a matchstick house in a thunderstorm.

“I’m alright,” he shrugs and doesn’t make eye contact. “How're you?”

“We’ve never been better,” Talia smiles. “Laura had her little boy last year, and he’s wonderful. Have you seen a picture?”

At the muted shake of his head, she produces a battered iPhone and flicks through photos of a chubby faced grey eyed cherub, often clutched by a grinning Derek. Seeing Derek holds a child physically hurts him, and Talia knows that.

“He’s amazing,” Stiles replies. “Congratulate her for me, won't you?”

“Thank you,” she says, politely cordial. “I just wanted to say welcome home. It’s not been the same without you.”

If Stiles could have guessed, Talia Hale is the last person he would've ever thought to say something like that.

“You can’t be serious,” Stiles says.

Behind them, he thinks Erica is live tweeting the entire affair.

 “I’ve missed you, so has my husband, my children, and especially Derek,” she continues.

Stiles feels guilty, which is swiftly becoming a familiar emotion.

“I know you left for Derek, and what Laura said was wrong,” Talia says, her eyes filling with tears. “Leaving just wasn’t in his best interests, son.”

“I thought it was,” Stiles admits, in a rush of words. “I thought I was…helping. That we weren’t doing anything for each other anymore, and that accident just proved that. Y’know I yelled at him before that?”

Talia nods.

“He came back with daisies to come see me. He wouldn’t’ve done that if I hadn’t been so mad,” Stiles shakes his head, shaking the memories away like he’s clearing cobwebs.

“Look, accidents happen. You shouldn’t’ve left, and I reckon you know that by now,” Talia looks at him like she still believes in him. “You just need to talk to Derek about all this.”

“I know,” Stiles says. “I know he doesn’t want to see me, but I want to try.”

“He still cares about you, y’know,” she says. He shakes his head, because what he saw yesterday doesn’t suggest eternal affection, not that he expected Derek to care.

“If he didn’t, you wouldn’t still be my favourite child in law,” she admits, eyes twinkling. “Don’t tell Laura, Cora, Dex or Derrell’s partners I said that, will ya?”

He laughs.

“I’ll see y’all at the house or bar,” she tells him and with a brush of his messy hair, she’s gone back to her car.

“Mrs Hale the babe,” Erica murmurs. Stiles sighs in agreement.

“Will you drop me off at Derek’s place?”

 

Instead of doing just that, she drops him off at the local veterinarian practice, Deaton's.

Stiles looks at her in quizzical confusion. “What the actual heck?”

“Think there’s someone else you need to see,” she shrugs, and honks her horn.

At her insistent pushing, he gets out her truck.

He sees a blur of tan skin and aqua scrubs and he’s flat on his back from the force of the tackle.

Scott is full of angry hoarse curse words at him, but he’s hugging him too, so Stiles isn't sure how mad he actually is.

“ _Why_ was I not the first one you came to see?” he demands when Stiles is back on his feet.

“Sorry man, I needed to see Derek,” Stiles shrugs.

“Of _course_ you did,” Scott says in an accusatory tone. “Such a cliché. Y’all owe me like five years worth of pizza and video games for not staying in contact, y' know.”

 Guilt washes over him. “Can you make seven p.m. at my place?”

Scott beams, and he still looks like a fifteen year old. “’Course I can.”

“GET IN HERE,” Deaton, Scott’s boss, hollers from the doorway.  Stiles is concerned to note he’s trying to pry a cat from his neck.

“I gotta go,” Scott says quickly. “I’ll see you tonight!”

He feels two hundred per cent better for having seen Scott.

 

“Your dad called, by the way,” Erica announces. “He wants to meet you for lunch at Weston’s.”

Stiles groans.

“Shut up,” Erica tells him. “Otherwise I won’t give you the other half of your surprise.”

“I don’t know how you’re gonna beat Scott, so go ahead.”

She narrows her eyes and drives like a maniac to the airport. They sing passionate Mayday Parade together and it’s like he’s sixteen all over again.

When they get to the airport, though, for one terrified moment he’s sure she’s flown Danny out here. It’s not fair for Danny to be introduced to townsfolk that _adore_ Derek and he starts sweating the fear out.

Instead, Allison Argent appears from the tiny plane, dimples and all, it’s a brilliant delight.

“How did you…?” Stiles asks Erica.

She shrugs. “I’m a genius, I thought you knew. Besides Allison and I have been Facebook friends for months. You need to catch up.”

He grins, and goes forward to welcome his best New York friend.

 

Stiles brings Allison to lunch with his dad, after Erica goes to meet Boyd for lunch at their place downtown. He sometimes forgets how loved up all his friends are with their enduring and healthy high school romances.

Lunch is a major success, because his dad _loves_ Allison.

“Yeah, I grew up one county over,” she says, eyes bright with memories. “Whenever I get a hankering for gravy, I come home.”

“Really?” his dad asks, raising his eyebrows. “Stiles should really learn from you.”

“I’ve told him before,” she sighs, and they both have a laugh at his expense.

“It’s good to know someone’s taking care of him up in New York,” his dad says. “Thank you for that.”

“My pleasure,” Allison grins. “He’s good for target practice, anyway.”

“You shoot too?!”

Yeah, Stiles is pretty sure his dad wants Allison to be his daughter in law, and that’s saying something, because he loves Derek a lot. They’re fishing buddies.

 

“How did Lydia let you leave?” Stiles asks. They’re wandering home, his dad’s gone back to work, and they munch on cheese grits as they walk.

Allison, for all her grey and navy pantsuits in New York, _suits_ jeans and cowboy boots and cap sleeved tops. She’s one step away from appearing in a Faith Hill music video.

“She just did,” Allison shrugs. “Says she gets more done when we’re not there, anyway.”

Stiles laughs. “She probably does as well. Thanks for coming down to stay.”

Allison grins at him. “No problem. I knew you weren’t having the easiest time, and I figured I could help provide a distraction, at least. No one can yell at the dimples, anyway.”

“It’s like a superpower,” Stiles agrees.

“What’s for dinner? I’ll bet your dad is an awesome cook…”

“Oh crap!” Stiles smacks a hand against his forehead. “I invited Scott over, and I really can’t cancel. Do you mind just kicking back while we play Call of Duty?”

“Scared I’ll beat ya?” Allison smiles, and she looks pure evil.

 

As it turns out, Allison is a) Scott’s dream girl and b) scarily good at Call of Duty. Scott basically has heart eyes the entire time she’s virtually destroying him.

The Sheriff calls to say he’s gonna have dinner with Melissa down the road, and Allison produces two bottles with a mischievous grin.

They decide to start drinking the whisky at about eight o’clock, and by ten he’s _gone._

It’s a night to remember, because Allison and Scott decide it’s a real good idea to walk to the Hale Family Bar in the centre of town, and it seems all rational thought is out of the window.

 _It’s not like Derek will be there_ , Scott tells him. Allison is dancing on the sofa to some Carrie Underwood behind him. _He’s usually busy, these days_.

The walk there is like following memory lane to his adolescent dream hangout.

The Hale’s bar in town is still warm, cosy, and lit with red fairy lights. The girl behind the bar _whoops_ when she sees Stiles, and rings a bell.

“Hi Cora!” he calls. He thinks it’s Cora, but it might be Laura. They look so dang alike, all dark hair and dark eyes. Shit, his vision’s blurry.

It’s nice the Hales called off the hit on his head, anyway. Mama Hale is amazing.

Cora serves Scott, Stiles and Allison shot after tequila shot. He doesn’t notice that she keeps smirking and texting someone behind the bar.

The time seems to slip by, before he knows it, Scott and Allison are making out in the corner and Stiles feels lonely where he’s swaying to Tim McGraw all on his own.

He decides to stand up and announce his feelings, because why not? Everyone wants to hear them anyway, he’s _sure_. He feels all warm and fuzzy.

Maybe it’s the surroundings, maybe it’s because he spent half his adolescence stealing beer from this bar with Derek and dancing to the jukebox with Derek, but he’s feeling emotional.

“I LOVE HALE,” he announces.

Now, Stiles is somehow on top of the bar and Cora is cheering and spraying lemonade at him from the bar tap, like he’s in Coyote Ugly or some shit.  

“Go Stiles,” Allison cheers from the corner and promptly pukes all over Scott.

“You’re awesome,” Scott tells her. The way he looks at her reminds Stiles of how Derek looked at him, and Stiles can’t understand in that moment why he isn’t here.

“Derek Hale, I love you,” Stiles slurs, slips on some lemonade on top of the bar and passes out in front of everyone he’s ever known, like the idiot he is.


	8. Like a Perfect Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allison laughs behind a hand. “Aren’t you the childhood sweetheart?”  
> Derek seems to brighten up a bit. “I guess so.”  
> “He dreams about you a lot,” she slurs.  
> Derek glares at the three of them, particularly the unconscious boy in his arms.

**20 AND 22**

_Derek wiped his hands on a rag and stared at his work. The woods rose up in the background, evergreen and forbidding, but the man in the foreground didn’t seem to care about that. His pale skin sliced through the painting and provided a beacon of light for the viewer._

_Most frustrating was the fact that all the paintings seemed to end up with Stiles at the forefront of them. He was inescapable._

_Derek sighed and went to read something in the living room, from his stacks of books. He chose a tome and sat at his favourite arm chair._

_Sometimes the house felt so empty, it was suffocating._

_After he moved out of his parents’ place, where he’d lived for a year, he missed Cora’s morning shrieks for more bathroom time and his mom’s yelling about her always lost car keys. His brothers trekked through the house and hollered for their dad or Derek and it was comforting to know that he wasn’t alone, not really._

_Derek’s birthday was the hardest, because he’d never in all his years, spent a birthday without Stiles. He was the constant, outside his family. His sisters made a cake with more eggshell than icing and they gathered round the kitchen island and sang to him. He knew then he’d be okay, he would survive._

_Even when he moved home and found Stiles’s stuff in the same places, he was okay._

_He got his mom and dad to help him gut the place and they mostly sent Stiles’s stuff back over to his dad’s place. He held on protectively to their photos, and didn’t notice his mom put Stiles’s wedding ring in front of their huge wedding frame._

_Anyway, he’d gone the entire year without bumping into John Stilinski. Mostly because Derek had become somewhat of a recluse._

_He jogged through the woods around his property line, ran to his folk’s place on the other side of the lake and his family kept buying him grocery shopping and art supplies, so he didn’t need to go into town._

_He just didn’t particularly want to see everyone’s pitying stares, because that was plain depressing. Isaac and Boyd came over sometimes and they watched the football with beer. He was fine._

_The knock on his door broke him out of his thoughts._

_Stood on the doorway was an intensely awkward Sheriff John Stilinski, with a wriggling ball of fur tucked under one arm, and some papers in the other hand._

_He grunted, “There you go”, and thrust the ball of fur into Derek’s arms._

_He realised it was a[little tan and black yappy puppy](http://gifsec.com/wp-content/uploads/GIF/2014/11/Little-Puppy-GIF.gif). She licked his chin. _

_“Betsy was found on the highway and brought to the precinct. I figured you would take care of her for me?”_

_The Sheriff found his weakness. He can’t say no to dogs, especially tiny ones who whimpered a lot and snuggled into Derek’s arms like she never wanted to leave._

_“I guess. Only until she’s weaned.” Both of them knew this was a lie._

_“Thanks,” Stilinski said. “I’ve also got to bring these to you, I’m sorry son.”_

_He put the papers on the side, and Derek’s heart plummeted. He knew they were divorce papers and had been waiting for them to turn up for a while now. He didn’t know what Stiles was doing in New York, but there were far more interesting people there, and it was inevitable he’d meet someone else he liked more than Derek._

_“Not your fault,” Derek shrugged like it was no big deal. “How’s he doing?”_

_John Stilinski paused, and his face seemed to crack. Derek realised he and Stiles probably weren’t on the best terms, which settled any lingering questions he had._

_“He’s at Columbia,” there was some pride in his voice._

_“Good, I’m glad,” Derek replied._

_He was genuinely glad and happy for him, in the way selfless love works. Because he knew that Stiles’s talents and knowledge were wasted in a small town. He needed bigger and better things, big cities, big companies and big important people and Beacon Hills couldn’t do that for him anymore. Derek couldn’t do that for him anymore, and that was alright, because Stiles was doing what he was supposed to do._

_Derek was finally alright, with his paintings, family dinners, football games and books. He was finally good, and he couldn’t begrudge Stiles for getting to the same stage._

_There was a beat of awkward, upset silence, then John Stilinski seemed to relax._

_“Listen, a guy at the precinct’s lent me his 1986 Sea Maid for a while. Wanna fish on the lake at the weekend?”_

_Derek felt some slice of normalcy slot back into place. “Absolutely.”_

_John smiled and left._

_After that, it felt like a weight was off his shoulders._

**MODERN DAY**

“You should’ve cut him off,” Derek tells Cora. She shrugs, amused.

Derek clutches Stiles to his bosom like he’s never gonna let go.

“We were having fun,” Scott says, and withers under Derek’s glare.

Allison laughs behind a hand. “Aren’t you the childhood sweetheart?”

Derek seems to brighten up a bit. “I guess so.”

“He dreams about you a lot,” she slurs.

Derek glares at the three of them, particularly the unconscious boy in his arms.

“Come on, I’ll drive you home,” Derek mutters.

“You are too pure for this world,” Scott tells him. Derek gives him a shove and it’s like any night when they were teenagers.

He tucks Stiles in the front seat and lets Allison clamber into his back seat. Scott reeks, though, so he’s only allowed to sit in the truck bed.

He yelps the entire way home and it’s mildly satisfying.

He drops them off at Melissa McCall, who Cora rang ahead of time, to expect Scott and the new love of his life. Allison gives her a hug and it’s like magic, Melissa laughs and reels her in.

Scott looks smug in his rear-view mirror as he drives away.  

Derek carries Stiles into the Stilinski house, while his dad holds the doors open.

Stiles is heavier than when Derek last held him, but it’s still a familiar weight and shape that pulls at his heartstrings. The whisky and tequila stink is choking, though.

“Thanks Derek,” John murmurs, and takes his sneakers off.

Stiles is still out for the count, but he’s just sleeping. Snoring like his life depends on it, actually.

“Any time,” Derek says, and doesn’t let himself look back before he leaves.

 

Stiles wakes up in the morning on the couch and it feels like someone took a sledgehammer to his forehead.

 Last night…images burst like camera flashes and he remembers drinking way too much, dancing on top of the bar, _shit_ , and then plunging into darkness. It’s not too much of a guess to figure out what happened. Cora, Scott and Allison are such enablers.

“Morning sunshine,” his dad says wryly.

Stiles groans in reply and slumps at the kitchen table.

“Regretting every decision you’ve ever made?” dad asks. “Good. It’s not a night of drinking until that happens.”

“What did I do?”

“Think you did an elegant dive off the Hale’s Bar and Derek gave you a lift home,” his dad smiles. “Great guy, that Derek.”

“When did he get involved?” Stiles is so confused and mortified.

“I’m not the person to ask,” his dad smirks.  

“Allison,” he realises and sits bolt upright. “Oh god, did I leave her—”

“No, she went back to Scott’s place,” his dad replies. “Melissa woke up this morning to this.” He brandishes his iPhone at Stiles's face.

Stiles winces and imagines pools of puke, her in bed with Scott, but the picture just shows a table packed with gourmet breakfast items. He doesn’t know why he expected anything different from Allison. She probably hoovered the house too.

“Yeah Allison Argent for President 2016, we get it,” Stiles mutters and slumps back to his coffee.

 “I’ve got to go back to work and you need to go and see Derek,” his dad tells him. “He carried your drunk ass in here, you know. He didn’t have to, but he did.”

“Yeah Derek Hale for VP 2016, we get it.”

His dad pokes his sore spot on his head, which, _ow,_ and goes to work.

Stiles finds his cell phone and feels instantly awful. He’s forgotten to text Danny for the last couple days.

The last text he’s got from Danny is an icy, _hope you’re having fun at home._

He sends him an apology and a run-down of events and decides to leave it as that. He’ll call Danny when he’s less likely to be in a business meeting—his Mondays are usually spent with the PR guy working on his social media accounts.

Stiles texts Allison and she just sends back a row of blushing smiling emojis. Someone’s clearly happy, and he doesn’t resent her for that at all.

Stiles gets showered and leaves the house before he realises he probably should bring Derek something. Like, as a thank you for not leaving him to die last night.

Stiles stops at the art shop downtown to pick up some stupidly expensive paintbrushes that he has the girl behind the counter tape up like a bunch of flowers. Without thinking, he buys the dog a huge bone with a meaty filling, because she’s adorable and deserves all the nice things, somewhat like her stubborn owner.

All the roads seem to lead back to Derek’s place, because he’s there in minutes.

Derek’s down working at the dock near his place when he gets there.

“Hey,” Stiles shouts.

If he’s not mistaken, Derek grins brightly at him, before he masks it with the standard _no comment, no emotion_ face.

The dog bounds to him and can’t stop yapping with excitement. He lets her jump into his arms and she practically basks in contentment. So this is what love is like.

“This dog is precious,” he admits.

“Her name’s Betsy,” Derek says. “What’ve you got there?”

Stiles thrusts the paintbrushes and the dog bone in his face.

“The bone is for Betsy, obviously,” he says. “How do you feel yelling Betsy at the dog park, by the way?”

“Perfectly masculine, thanks,” Derek says with a smirk.

He throws the bone in the water without much care, and it sinks. Stiles huffs in outrage.

He thinks it might be normal for them though, when Betsy hops out of his arms and dives into the lake.

“Shit!” Stiles says. “Is she okay?”

He gets to his knees and scans the watery depths for the pup. She’s tiny—how is she even gonna lift the bone up, let alone swim to the service.

“How deep is this?”

“Around six feet,” Derek shrugs, like it’s no big deal.

“What is _wrong_ with you?” Stiles demands.

Betsy comes to the surface, dragging the bone with her. Derek scoops her out the water and sets her down on the dock. She’s wriggling with happiness and gets down to gnawing at her bone.

“Don’t underestimate her,” Derek says. “What did you want?”

Stiles finds himself just staring at Derek. His eyes are the same calming ocean grey, but he’s bulkier than ever, arms stretching his shirt sleeves, and more importantly, his face is content and calm. He couldn’t look more different to the Derek he knew five years ago.

“I wanted to give you these,” he hands him the paintbrushes and Derek’s face shines with quiet pleasure. “As a thank you for taking me and Scott and Allison home. Particularly for carrying my drunk ass indoors. You didn’t have to.”

Derek shrugs. “To me, you’re my responsibility.”

Stiles flushes with colour. “I’m not your freaking little brother.”

“No shit,” Derek laughs. Honest to god, laughs, shoulder shaking with it. “My little sister let you drink past your limit, in my family’s bar, so it’s my responsibility to take you home.”

Stiles wonders if he helps a lot of drunk people get home, but he’s pretty sure Derek’s not that nice. He hopes, strangely, that that’s a Stiles privilege reserved only for him. He knows it is a stupid, unreasonable hope.

They stare at each other for a few more seconds and it’s awkward and familiar and sweet.

“Want a hand sorting out the decking?” Stiles asks, with a nod to the rotting planks at the end of the dock.

“Sure,” Derek says, pleasantly surprised.

That’s how he spends his Monday afternoon, while Betsy watches them in a content stupor. He’s pretty sure she’s purring.

 


	9. Half as True

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief disclaimer: confederate references, because Alabama and it's in the film. Sorry for that, I in no way condone the confederacy. There's a brief cotton plantation reference, but again, I do not condone the evils that went on in many of them, it is simply in the film that a main character lives in an old historic one, so I have echoed that here.

**16 AND 18**

_“You’re such a redneck,” Stiles breathed, and nipped Derek’s pulse point._

_“Just get in the back of my truck won’t you,” Derek groaned. Stiles smirked._

_“Point proven,” Stiles said, but it turned into a moan when Derek squeezed his ass._

_Derek’s eyebrows did wondrous things that turned him on._

_“I want you to screw me,” Derek said plainly. “That alright with you?”_

_Stiles basically swallowed his tongue._

_“Always.”_

_They were panting in the back of the truck when there was an uncomfortable rapping on the windscreen. Blue lights flashed in his peripheral, and Stiles knew it wasn’t the orgasm. It was just like every nightmare Stiles has ever had._

_Stiles extricated his fingers from Derek's ass and sat upright. “Oh dear lord no.”_

_Derek whimpered in fear, or it might’ve been longing for Stiles’s long and talented fingers. It was hard to be sure._

_“It’s my dad,” Stiles hissed, and he never saw someone move quicker than Derek did in that moment._

_They stepped out of the truck’s back seat with as much decency as they could muster. Derek looked serious, his standard no comment, no emotion face, and Stiles blushed harder than a virgin on their wedding night._

_“Boys,” Stiles’s dad sighed. It was difficult to tell who looked more embarrassed, the Sheriff or Stiles._

_“Sir,” Derek said with no shame. “We’ll get moving now, if you’d like.”_

_“Parking in the backwoods isn’t what I expected from you two,” Stiles choked on his saliva._

_“Tell me about it,” Derek said. “Stiles’s idea.”_

_He looked disappointed in his son. “Where’s the romance?”_

_“I’m not having this conversation with either of you,” Stiles decided and clambered back in the truck. Stiles clutched his head and rocked back and forth like he was having a break down._

_“Get going won’t ya,” the sheriff said. “Make sure my son’s not dyin’ of embarrassment.”_

_“No promises,” Derek laughed and climbed back in the truck._

_Stiles was praying in the front seat, and Derek kept laughing._

_“Let’s pick this up at yours?” Derek asked, and despite his embarrassment, Stiles nodded._

 

**MODERN DAY**

“Scott’s asked if we wanna go to the barn dance tonight,” Stiles says, reading off his phone. There are several party related emojis he doesn’t vocalise.

Derek quirks an eyebrow at him.

“Thought you yanks didn’t like that kinda thing,” Derek shrugs.

The word ‘yank’ stings.

“I can still line dance with the best of ‘em thanks,” Stiles huffs.

Derek smirks and turns back to his decking. Stiles gets the hint to leave, and besides, he wants to have dinner with his dad at some point.

“You’re gonna come, right?” Stiles is concerned by how desperate he sounds.

“Maybe,” Derek says. It might be Stiles’s imagination, but he sounds almost coy.

Stiles tilts his mock cowboy hat and leaves.

 

After the bologna cake dinner, he lets Erica and Allison dress him for the barn dance, which he abruptly regrets.

Erica pulls out a bright red checked shirt that he hasn’t seen since high school. In fact, the last time he wore that shirt was the first time Derek had ever sucked his dick. He flushes at the memory, but that doesn’t stop Erica and Allison cramming him into his nicest jeans, some of Boyd’s spare boots and this shocking shirt.

When Boyd and Scott turn up, they do shots of whiskey with his dad—which, there’s an image he never needed, his dad knocking back whiskey like it’s apple juice—and leave at nine.

His dad and Melissa McCall follow in the car behind them. Stiles was pleasantly surprised that they posed for photos for Facebook together like teenagers, and even happier at the happy embarrassment on his dad’s red face.

The barn dance is held at Erica’s sister’s husband’s cousin’s place, so they get to park in the nice car park. He laughs at Scott and Allison’s faces when their car gets caught on an old tire and it takes four of them to push it off.

The music is booming already and he dances with Erica, who can’t stop showing off at all the attention. He dances with Allison who, having grown up at barn based events, dances him under the table. Boyd keeps making him wear cowboy hat from somewhere.

Somehow during the night he gets handed off to Derek for a slow dance.

They make a lot of eye contact, while Derek’s eyebrows form a confused shape, and Stiles can’t help but grin. It’s the Derek Hale effect, when he’s not making Stiles furious.

When the band takes a break because a banjo string broke, Erica shows him round her relatives’ place, and he gets distracted by the gorgeous painting hanging on the wall.

It’s clearly the ocean and looks like different textures have been put together to make it, and he yearns to touch it. There’s something vaguely familiar about the brush strokes and the vibrant clue colours. However, its plaque reads, _Deep South Art,_ which is completely unfamiliar. He plans to Google it when he's back home with service. 

“Who did this?” He asks. He misses the looks Erica and Boyd swap. “Wouldn’t mind gettin’ something like this for my dad and Melissa.”

“No idea,” Erica says blandly. “Wanna go out and dance?”

“I just want some space,” Stiles says, and hears them leave. He stares at the painting a few seconds longer and can’t place its familiarity, but he wants to. It’s gorgeous.

Stiles wanders over to the garden behind the barn and watches the lights of the highway in the distance. He feels torn in two, because part of him wants to be driving away from this redneck town and the other part wants to stay put and never possibly move. 

He doesn’t notice Derek creep up behind him until they’re sat on the same patch of grass, and he’s washed in Derek’s minty smell. Familiarity settles in his stomach.

“How’re y’all doing?” Derek asks. Stiles wonders why he can’t help but find Derek’s country abbreviations attractive.

“Quit being so nice,” Stiles mutters.

“What?”

“How come it has to be so complicated? Life?” Stiles gestures at the barn dance behind them. He can see Erica trying to kick up her skirts through the barn doors.

 “You looked like you were havin’ fun out there tonight,” Derek smiles and nudges his shoulder. Stiles can’t help but smile back.

“But I fit New York. But then I come down here and this fits too.” Stiles isn’t sure he makes any sense, but Derek understands. Derek has always understood him.  

“Why does it have to be one or the other?” Derek doesn’t sound confused, though and nudges his arm. 

“Maybe I could just fly south for the winter.” They both laugh at his attempt at a joke, and Stiles wonders how he got so lucky with the man sitting next to him, this guy that laughs at all his stupid jokes.

“I still go out there sometimes, y’know… seeing those big thunderheads rolling in? It’s like a religion for me.” Derek sounds embarrassed to admit that, and his cheeks are flushed red. Stiles abruptly aches to be younger and running hand in hand with Derek along their beach.

“You ever wonder what we would’ve been like if the accident didn’t happen?” Stiles wonders. He feels awful to even bring up the accident but it’s been hanging over his head ever since he came home; the only person he wants to actually speak to about it is sitting next to him.

“Being married to me would’ve been your only adventure. And that’s not right,” Derek shakes his head like he genuinely believes it’s true.

“I’m sorry. I’ve felt so ashamed for so long… I thought it was the right thing to leave. All of a sudden I just needed another life.” Stiles feels a rush of relief at admitting it out loud. 

“You’ve found another life and done real well. I’m proud of you. I’m just sad I never got to dance with you, at our wedding. I’m sure the next one will go real well,” Derek says. His eyes are soft and caring and it’s all too much for Stiles.

“I can’t do this,” he says, eyes on Derek’s mouth. He’s not sure what he’s talking about anymore.

“I know,” Derek says, and it’s him that swoops in, Stiles is sure of it.

Abruptly they kiss, mouth on mouth, and it’s warm and emotional. Stiles isn’t sure how long he’s wanted him to do this, but it feels like air in oxygen deprived lungs.

It brings back years’ worth of kisses and emotions. He’s nine again and being kissed for the first time, and then he’s nineteen and kissing Derek before bed. He’s thirteen and learning to make out like it’s a fine art, and then he’s sixteen and learning how to kiss Derek to really get him going in the backseat of the truck.

Their mouths are hungry and his knees ache where they press into the ground. Derek’s got his hand gripped on the nape of Stiles’s neck and he’s got his hands digging into the muscles of Derek’s back. He gets his mouth on Derek’s neck just below his right ear and can’t seem to stop kissing that spot, his sensitive spot that makes him tingle all over.  It’s only when a wild noise springs from Derek’s throat that they both back off from each other and begin panting like they’ve been running for miles.

“Go home,” Derek says, voice rough.

Stiles jolts like he’s been shocked with electricity, because he knows that Derek means New York, actually wants him gone, and that stings.

But then he remembers what he’s just done to Danny and what he’s just done to Derek, and he understands why he doesn’t deserve to stay. He’s an awful human being, and he doesn’t deserve either of them.  He’s awful and unfair, and he needs to talk to his dad or Scott. He's messed up, and it's serious and awful. He doesn't know what to do.

He leaves.

 

Or at least, he tries to leave. It’s a bit more difficult than that though, considering his friends are attached to his presence again.

Leaving the barn dance unseasonably early was just rude, but Erica understood. She kept smugly eyeing up his red lips and flustered face.

“I’ve got to go back home,” Stiles says, when she hugs him goodbye. He gets a Reyes and Boyd frown for that statement.

“Not right now,” she sighs. “Just leave it one more day, won’t you? Leave tomorrow morning. Promise me?”

“She’ll hunt you down in New York if you don’t,” Boyd tells him, and he remembers when her grandma told her she wasn’t allowed to date Boyd. He knows how ferocious she can be.  

Stiles nods and smiles at them like he’s just fine, but feels numb behind it.

When Stiles gets home, he passes out in bed at about 11pm. He’s even beat his dad home, like he’s in seventh grade or something.

The next morning, the house is empty. The fridge note reads, _I’m at the re-enactment till five._

Stiles feels awful for forgetting. He used to get up at 6am to see his dad’s costume every year because he _always_ looks awesome and it’s a Stilinski tradition to see him off with a traditional lunch.

He packs his bags and goes to find his dad in the re-enactment.

 

Derek has promised to pick Erica up at her house. House is a polite word for the Reyes Plantation, it’s absurdly huge and more than a little bit intimidating. He knows Erica hates living here, but can’t afford rent on Boyd’s side of town and doesn't want to leave her kooky gran on her own, either.

He almost collides with a huge SUV on the drive over, who doesn’t even signal that they're about to turn in. People without road manners really gall Derek to no end. Derek’s mood continues to sour from last night, which is saying something, because he’s been in a bad mood since Stiles left again. He’s getting awfully sick of seeing the back of Stiles’s head.

The SUV, to his intense surprise, pulls up at the Reyes Plantation too. He wonders what business Erica has with this jackass.

The jackass steps out the car, and he looks familiar. It clicks when Derek remembers him from the New York Post article—this is Stiles’s yank fiancé.

“This is the Carter place, right?” Danny asks, with a slight sneer in his voice. It’s like he thinks Derek, for all his slow words and sullen face, doesn’t understand a thing.

“You’re at the wrong house,” Derek says dryly and bangs on the door. The sooner Erica gets out here, the sooner he can get away from Stiles’s fiancé, and that’s probably best for his health.

“Sure it is. Nice speaking to you,” Danny replies with polite courtesy, eyes on his cell phone. Derek thinks he’s up himself.

Thankfully Erica opens the door and looks amused to find Danny and Derek on the doorstep.

“You must work here,” Danny says with relief. “I’m looking for Stiles Carter? I’m Danny Mahealani, his fiancé?

Erica stares at him in disbelief, anger kicking in, but that slides away to reveal a fake smile.

“I’m his cousin,” Erica says sweetly. A look at her mischievous eyes tells Derek all he needs to know.  

“I’m also his cousin. Miguel.” Derek adds with a toothy smirk. Who says he doesn't have a sense of humour?

Erica snorts her laugh but masks it with a cough.

“Great,” Danny says. “I need to see him, is he around?”

“He’ll be down at the re-enactment,” Erica says. “We’ll give you a ride there, _Danny_.”

 

“Have y’all seen my dad?” Stiles yells out to the pretend dead bodies on the western field.

“He’s one field over,” Greenburg yells from his position on the ground. Another guy to his right smacks at him for breaking character, and he’s pretty sure he went to high school with that kid too.

Greenburg has been instructed to lie and play like he’s broken his leg, and for that time in high school that he broke Scott’s leg ‘by accident’ during Lacrosse try outs, Stiles kicks dirt at his face as he goes by. Maybe he also stands on his leg. 

He watches his dad surrender in the next field over, and against the glowing backdrop of the sunset and the vibrant trees, he feels a surge of pride for the effort they've all put into this year's performance. He can’t help but cheer for his dad at the end of it, though he knows Lydia and all his democrat friends back home would be horrified if they could see him right now.

It’s a town tradition to do stupid shit like this. Stiles’s mom used to make the costumes, and it’s not quite Alabama until someone whips out a confederacy flag.

 

“Remember that Stilinski kid that blew through here a few years back? Boy, did he cause trouble,” Erica says, fanning herself like the stories associated with that kid are just too dramatic to be told.

“Total hero, Stilinski,” Derek says deadpan. “That boy used to carry on. When he was in high school, we found out that our friend’s cat was dying. Someone told us they put cats down by sucking out their lungs, and heck, ol’ Stilinski didn’t think it was very fair on that poor cat. So he snuck over to where they were makin’ that new tunnel by the highway, with the cat, and used thirty feet of fuselage to kill that cat the fair way. Anyway, we attached the cat to the stuff and ran downtown, expectin’ our asses to get burnt the whole way there. Anyway, so we get downtown, we’re eating in Weston’s feelin’ blue and here strolls that _very same cat._ Long story short, it went in the old bank, wriggled loose from the explosives, and some hick’s cigarette caught the fuselage, and _boom._ The old bank went sky high and graduation that year got cancelled. We still see that cat, actually. He’s been a bit twitchy about humans after that though. Isaac tried to adopt him last year, I think. His name's Magnus now. Anyways, Stilinski was quite the boy.”

Derek isn’t sure if he should tell him about the time they stole the cat fish from Mr Ford’s place and sold them online, or the other time they set Isaac’s farts on fire and his ass pubes went up in flames. That’s online if he wants to find it though, so he leaves out that delightful tale.   

 “What happens to a kid like that after high school?” Danny wonders out loud, like he’s horrified that someone could pull something like that and still be normal.

 “Oh you know. Married some loser straight out of high school.” Derek mutters. Erica’s face falls.

“Did he knock her up?”

“That’d be a miracle,” Derek says through gritted teeth, and Erica doesn’t stop the laugh this time.

 

Stiles wanders up towards the snack stands when he runs into, to his horror, Danny, Derek and Erica.

“What’re you doing here?” Stiles asks, eyes on Derek.

“I don’t even know,” Derek replies.

Danny smiles. “I think you’re mistaken, Miguel, he was talking to _me._ I’m here to surprise you! Because I missed you.”

“Must be exhaustin’, living that lie,” Derek says.

“Miguel, don’t.” Erica says quickly. Stiles thinks he deserves whatever Derek comes out with, though he’s not sure why he’s going by Miguel.

“You and I are in love with two very different people,” Derek tells Danny, and strides off to join the others. Erica follows in his footsteps and he can see that she’s praying as she goes.

“Is he your second cousin?” Danny asks after a beat. The words  _in love_ glow in the air and Stiles has to shake himself out from the daze.

“That’s my husband, Derek,” Stiles says. “I mean ex-husband.”

“You _married_ your cousin?!” Danny looks horrified. “Jesus Christ Stiles!”

As soon as Danny curses, he manages to summon the Sheriff from out of nowhere.

“You must be my boy’s fiancé! I’m his dad, John Stilinski.” His dad takes off his hat and everything, which is a compliment.

It seems to be the final straw, because Danny turns on his heel and storms away. Stiles doesn’t know where he’s going, and frankly, he deserves all his annoyance, so he lets him go.

 

“You know, the sharpest berries make the best pies,” his dad tells him on the drive home. It’s extremely strange to hear that from a man in a uniform with a confederate patch on the sleeve and dirt on his face.

“Thanks dad,” Stiles says. He’s sure it’s valid advice, for something.

He hasn’t broken it to his dad that he’s leaving just yet, but when he pulls up at home, he’s not sure he needs to.

Allison and Scott stand chatting to Danny. Allison seems to have taken it in her stride that Scott’s in a re-enactment costume, even. You can take the girl out of the south, but can never take the south out of the girl.  

Stiles jumps out the Jeep and stares at Danny, who even now, has a smile on his face.

“I thought you’d be half way to New York by now,” Stiles starts.

“I’d figure I’d come back and see what you have to say for yourself,” Danny says, and Stiles realises this is his last chance. His mind flashes to Derek, and he thinks how he’s told him to get out every time. He doesn’t want him, and that’s understandable. So Stiles tries.

“Well, my name’s Stiles Stilinski. I grew up in this house. My mama raised me right here before she died, and taught me everything I know about languages and researching. My dad here’s the sheriff in town, and he makes the best jam in three counties. This is my home, and I love it here.”

He sees Allison squeeze his dad’s arm when a single tear falls at the mention of Stiles’s mom.

Danny’s eyes widen at the Stilinski house; he knows in comparison to Danny’s Upper East Side apartment, it’s nothing, but his dad’s house proud, and so is he. Danny looks like he thinks hard, especially now he’s just realised Stiles is significantly poorer than first realised.

Danny sighs like this is the most difficult decision of his life.

“I’m Danny Mahealani, Stiles’s fiancée. If he’ll still have me. I don’t care that you lied to me about some things. So you have a past—who doesn’t. What I need to know if there’s a place for me in your future?” Danny ends it like it’s a question.

Stiles embraces Danny because he doesn’t trust his voice to speak.

“Guess I’ll get ready for New York,” Stiles’s dad says, begrudgingly.

“Huh?” Scott asks.

“Danny’s mom is this huge judge, she knows way too many people, so they’ll have to have this fancy New York wedding,” Allison says, like it’s simple.

“I’d rather get married here,” Stiles corrects. “In my hometown.”

“If you’re worried about the money—”

“It’s not like that down here,” Stiles says, noting that his dad rolls his eyes.

“A nice quiet country wedding sounds just perfect.” Danny sounds optimistic.

“You’ve clearly never been down south,” Stiles’s dad says.


	10. In the Morning Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was probably my favourite scene to write! I love this bit in the film, it gives me feelings. P.S. this is literally a direct transcript of me and my mum fighting. Anyone else fight with their mum like this? Or is it just me haha.

**7 AND 9**

_“Honey, you can stay as long as you want,” Derek’s dad, Aaron, told Stiles. His eyes were a cool blue but he was broad shouldered and scruffy like Derek, which made the words feel like they were coming from an older Derek._

_Stiles went red. They knew his dad had the late shift all week and had it last week too. They knew it was because they had just put his mom in the ground._

_The Hale house was exactly what he needed right now._

_They don’t tip toe round him, which was great, because his house was silent even with his dad in it.  It’s like he was worried if they talked they’ll have to talk about mom._

_Laura seemed to argue with Talia a lot. That day, it went along the lines of,_

_“But dad said I could go to the basketball party!”_

_“I highly doubt that Laura. This isn’t something he’d say yes to unless you didn’t explain it properly.”_

_“I did explain it! You’re so unfair.”_

_“Life is unfair.”_

_“UGH. DAAAD!”_

_“AARON.”_

_Aaron sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Think they mean another Aaron?”_

_Stiles and Derek laughed. Stiles froze, because it was the first time he’s laughed since his mom, and Derek knew too. He patted Stiles on the arm._

_“What?” They heard Aaron say._

_“MOM WON’T LET ME GO TO THE BASKETBALL PARTY WITH THE SENIORS.” Laura’s voice was high and passive aggressive._

_“Did you say she could go to this nonsense?” Talia sounded weary._

_“I did, until I knew there’d be seniors there,” Aaron sounded amused. “Now you’re definitely not going.”_

_“Daaaad.”_

_“Wanna go play bankers and robbers?” Stiles asked brightly. It was one of their favourites._

_“Please,” Derek sighed._

_His family sure were annoying sometimes, and insensitive to Stiles’s current situation, which was just plain mean. Thankfully his brothers were at baseball training otherwise he’s sure they’d be arguing with their dad too._

_However, it was clear that Stiles couldn’t stop laughing at Laura’s dramatics. He decided then and there that Stiles would have to move in._

**MODERN DAY**

“I’m not sure I’ve ever been gladder to see you,” Stiles says, pulling Lydia’s suitcase along for her. Allison has her carry on, and they swap dark looks because she has brought so much _shit_ down to Alabama.

She’s been here one minute and keeps muttering ominously about the humidity and her perfectly curled—at least for now—hair.

“Even when that elevator broke down on the fifteenth floor and she rescued you from the system malfunction?” Allison asks. Stiles shudders at the memory, and not just because he’d been locked in there with a particularly eager intern.

“I do light up most rooms,” Lydia agrees. “I don’t trust Kavanagh to do my tasks for the week, though. What’s the service like in Beacon Hills? Or do I dare not ask.”

The country twins grimace.

When Stiles attempts to look anywhere but at Lydia, he notices a huge poster for _Deep South Art,_ with that amazing ocean picture in the forefront of the very poster. He thinks he’s died and gone to heaven, which sounds dramatic, but he’s had a _trying_ couple weeks, thanks.

First off, there’d been the Hale situation. He kept calling Derek, against basically everyone’s advice, because he had to say something, even if it was just an apology that he didn’t want. Dammit, he’s going to give him the apology, and he is going to love it and forgive Stiles's douchebaggery. His answering machine seemed understanding, at least.

The Hale situation continued where the Hales were being dangerously nice to Stiles. Point one, Talia Hale sent over a wedding gift, and against better advice, Stiles sent her an invite to the ceremony. He knows it’s insensitive but he wants his mom at his wedding, and Talia Hale is the closest thing he has to that. Besides, he owes her a dance.

Dex Hale has always been the least welcoming Hale, but even he turns up with a wedding gift and his mom’s RSVP. He opens it and not one, but ten guests have been added to the invite: _Talia Hale and Aaron Hale, Peter Hale and Cara Hale, Laura Hale and Matthew Hale, Dex Hale and Rosie Hale, Darrell Hale and Joanna Hale, Cora Hale,_ and an assortment of Dex, Darrell and Laura’s bat-shit crazy kids.

 There’s only one name missing, and he tries not to think about it.

“I thought you wouldn’t want to come so I didn’t…” Stiles says in horror. He has no idea how to accommodate what will probably be every mini Hale. 

“You’ve been a Hale for years, Stiles,” Dex says gruffly. He’d think his mom was speaking into his ears if he couldn’t see to the contrary. “I got you an ice-cream maker, by the way. Hope that floats your boat.”

Thoroughly confused, he nods goodbye to the least loquacious Hale.

Worst of all, perhaps, is that Mama Mahealani comes to town, because it’s her precious Danny’s wedding, her only child, her only delight. Stiles sometimes wonders if she’s genuinely forgotten she gave birth to Jordan five years before Danny, and he’s serving overseas. Stiles thinks Jordan is probably the only one who doesn’t stand for his mom’s shit.

If she’s here, he’s not sure who’s guarding the gates of Hades.

She had been driven round in a deputy cruiser for a special treat tour of Beacon Hills before Stiles called an end to it. Now, she always looks at him with a special sort of dislike, especially since Danny told her the truth, which is probably well deserved. There were mutterings about communists and comrades before he told her he’s actually like, fourth generation Russian. She didn’t look appeased.

She’s been on at him to sort a better ceremony for Danny, because _he_ deserves it, and swear to god, if Danny wasn’t pure sunlight he would have told her where to shove the table orchids a long time ago. There’s only so much snapping Stiles can stand before he bites back, and he is close to his limit.

The point of it all, he’s floundering in a way he’s pretty sure a budding groom shouldn’t be. He’d been thrilled when Allison sent for Lydia and not just because she did a semester of Event Planning in college before she realised it was a class, not just a fun after hours club.

(“What kind of club demands essays?” Stiles has argued, multiple times.

“I went to Harvard, Stiles, an _actual_ ivy league,” Lydia always replies. )

He needs someone with moral fibre and actual strength that will get Mama Mahealani to back off the wedding details _and_ get away with it. He needs someone who will slap him out of any Derek Hale thoughts he’s having. He also needs someone that will watch bad Lifetime movies with him and Allison.

“I didn’t know you became Vincent Van Gogh out here, Stiles,” Lydia says sweetly.

“I’ve been trying to find this artwork for weeks now,” Stiles explains. He keeps eyeing up the poster, despite the shoves from an aggressive Keith Urban lookalike trying to get past.

 _It’s Derek’s work,_ Allison mouths at Lydia. Lydia’s eyes twinkle with amusement.

“I think we should go to the open house,” Lydia says, just to put the idea in his head. Besides, she’s been alone in New York for weeks now, with no entertainment.

Stiles beams at the little sign in the corner that says _Open House! Today! 12-5pm!_ in dangerously enthusiastic tones. He doesn’t even care it’s in helvetica.

Allison rolls her eyes. Of course Lydia thinks it’s funny.

Stiles proceeds to usher them into his car and onto the highway, with a new sort of purpose to his step. This, going to stare at nice art for a couple hours, he can do without getting a disappointed look from a Mahealani. He can do this.

“You are a horrible person,” Allison says quietly to Lydia.

“I’m _sure_ that and the crickets will keep me awake tonight,” Lydia replies. Her smugness radiates in the car.

Allison would resent her stupid idea more but Stiles is listening to Taylor Swift and singing along, and it’s the happiest she’s seen him in days.

She just hopes seeing Derek won’t bring it crashing down.

 

The gallery is set back off the road, but the building is insane. It’s all oak panels inside and outside, with tall stained glass windows and woodland views.  

Privately, Stiles thinks that Derek would love this place, especially the stained glass, and feels a pang that he’s not here to enjoy it with him. He has to remind himself it’s not like that anymore.

The paintings hung up bring the space to life. Forest scenes, ocean views, even freaking meadows, it’s like he’s in a Jane Austen novel and he’s loving every freaking minute.

Something about the paintings seem eerily familiar, and he has the odd feeling like he’s missing something. Like he’s standing on the precipice of a cliff but doesn’t realise he is.

A yappy fluff ball stops him obsessing over the meadow shot like a crazy person.

“Betsy!” He coos, there’s no other word for it.

Lydia tries to scratch Betsy behind the ear and gets a growl instead.

“Whose dog is that?” Lydia mutters, as Betsy tries to lead Stiles by his shoe lace to a door at the back.

“Derek’s,” Allison replies, unable to stop the smile.

Betsy manages to lead a full grown man to a backroom, and then sits and wags her tail in delight, an official _my job is done_. He grins at her and sneaks into the back room. He doesn’t know why he does it, he’s always been a nosy ass, but something in his gut tells him to do it.

Stiles is abruptly submerged in a rosy lit, tiny back room. It’s shaped like an L, and he’s at the tiny end. There are paintings in the room, but these aren’t landscapes, they’re more abstract than that. There’s a pale guy in most of them, even it’s just the edge of him, like a hand beckoning to the viewer in front of a stormy sea. They’re mesmerising and weird, and he’s officially in love.

His favourite though, he thinks, is the great pair of caramel brown eyes suspended in a sunset. They look like his mom’s eyes, and it’s like she’s watching from heaven. He gets a lump in his throat just looking at it.

“Stiles?” Derek asks, and honest to God, makes him flail and trip over his own legs. “What’re you doing here?”

Derek is tucked at the other end of the room, sat in front of an easel and by a window. He's wearing a soft green sweater with the sleeves pushed up, his hands are splattered with burgundy paint, and he has two mugs next to him that say, _paint water_ and _not paint water._

“Did you get my messages?” it’s the first thing he thinks of, and he doesn’t know how to say _sorry for being a nosy ass and invading your privacy for like the fifth time in two weeks_ without collapsing inwards with embarrassment.

Derek doesn’t respond.

 “I just wanted to say I’m sorry for kissing you. It was out of line, and I don’t want to be _that_ guy,” Stiles says with as much sincerity as he can muster. He’s sweating behind his ears. “It won’t happen again.”

Derek doesn’t look up from where he’s staring at one of his paintings, and Stiles’s damn heart deflates. He rubs his hands together awkwardly.

“I’ll leave you alone,” Stiles says. “I won’t bother you anymore.”

Stiles isn’t sure what this is, but how can it be heartbreak when his entire body hurts? He picks his way back over to the door. Allison and Lydia will definitely laugh in his face at his melodramatics. He needs to pull himself together.  

“Don’t leave, that’s not what I want. You always leave and I don’t know how to get you to stay,” Derek sounds shattered, hand suddenly on Stiles’s arm. His eyes are big and grey and hopeful, and something in Stiles surges to life suddenly.

“Me leaving was probably the best thing,” Stiles says. “I mean, look around. You did these, they’re so amazing, Derek. You’re so good.”

Derek flushes a little.

“I want good things for you,” Stiles says, tries to clarify. Every beat of his heart seems to fucking spell out, _Derek Hale._ It’s humiliating. “That’s why I left. When I’m not here, you achieve this. When I was around, you worked in a dead end job and ended up in a fucking car accident. You could’ve _died_ and it would’ve been no one’s fault but mine _._ ” His voice breaks at the end of the sentence.

“ _You_ didn’t run the red light. _You_  didn't choose to drive when you were over the legal limit for alcohol at eight o’clock at night and determined to get back to give your asshole husband some daisies. That was not your fault. My life doesn’t turn to shit when you’re around,” Derek says, voice ringing in the tiny room. “And if that’s why you left and stayed away—you’re an idiot. I just want you around, for you. Because you inspire me.”

Stiles feels warm all over with content, and he’s pretty sure that’s the longest sentence he’s ever heard Derek say voluntarily. Even his vows weren’t that long.

“You’re not going to leave for a while?” Derek asks, looking at Stiles through his eyelashes. It’s a dirty, dirty trick because Derek always used to do it to get laid.

He can feel his cheeks heating up. “Not until someone tells me to.”

It’s a reference to the last time Derek told him to go home, and hopes he realises what he means. Derek has always had power over Stiles, just by virtue of being in love with him, but when Derek chooses his words deliberately, they sting all the more when he uses them against Stiles.

Derek’s expression is earnest and open, and by god Stiles wants to kiss it off his face. Stiles clenches his hands because he needs to pull his shit together.

“I think Lydia and Allison will wonder where I am,” Stiles tells him quietly.

“I’ll walk you out,” Derek says, southern manners kicking in. He can’t help but grin because he remembers when Derek was seventeen and burly and stubble and carried old people’s shopping across the road. Betsy abruptly decides to hop into Stiles's arms. 

“Thanks for letting me see these,” Stiles says, one glance round at the paintings tucked in the back. “You’ve done real well for yourself up here.”

Derek visibly brightens, and nods towards the golden framed meadow painting when they emerge. He can see the relieved looks on his friends’ faces.  

“Remember that meadow in Akron?”

Stiles laughs. “I remember choking on a butterfly.”

From there on the conversation is easy, slow, and nostalgic, just like it used to be. Stiles can’t help but buy five paintings for the people he loves: his dad and Melissa, Scott, Allison, Lydia and himself. It’s a small fortune, but hey, Derek’s work is so worth it, especially when he realises it’s his memories up on the wall, and all the places they considered their own.

Derek looks quietly pleased and Stiles wants to keep that damn expression on his face year round, 365 days a year. Stiles checks his watch, as the thought that he's got to entertain the Mahealani's at his dad's place enters his head. He feels abruptly guilty for letting Danny slip through his mind all day.

“I’ll see you around,” Derek nods, face guarded again. Stiles feels that sense of relaxed content he hasn’t since he was eighteen and staring at Derek’s face across the alter, slip away. "Let's leave him alone, Betsy."

Betsy makes a grumbling resentful sound but does as she's told. He can't help but feel a desperate sort of ache in his chest as they disappear.

They’re all quiet as they get back in the car. The car is back on route, on the highway by the time Allison speaks, like she knew he needed time to process what’s just happened.

“Derek went to New York, you know,” Allison tells him on the way home. “Scott told me…he said he’d never seen anything like it.”

Stiles is quiet as he digests her words. 

“He didn’t try to see me,” Stiles mutters, and it bothers him more than it should. It bothers him no one's told him before this. 

“Derek came back and said he needed more than memories to impress you. He needed to conquer the world to get you back,” Allison smiles at Stiles, and he thinks about the gallery and the swarm of people there, talking all excited about the paintings on the wall.

“Derek’s done great,” Stiles says, almost to himself.

“Will your Derek Hale fan club have pins or ribbons?” Lydia asks after a beat or two. Stiles is thankful that he has Allison around to punch her in the shoulder.


	11. You Make Me Feel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Why wouldn’t he go? He’s over Stiles. He’s moved on. Stiles is just his friend and it would be nice of him to go, he got him a gift and everything, why wouldn’t he just-” Laura blinks looking as though she’s just been hit with the obvious stick.  
> “It’s just occurred to her,” Cora mutters.  
> “Give her a minute to come round,” Derrell agrees, looking up from his magazine. Dex doesn’t even look up from his pancakes.

 

**MODERN DAY**

“What do you think? The peach or rose…are you even listening?” Laura whirls round from the mirror with an accusatory glare. Derek blinks up from the phone screen in his hand and blinks. He hadn’t known there were options.

Cora doesn’t even try to hide her yawn.

“It’s like you don’t even want to go to Stiles’s wedding,” she says, with narrowed eyes and that’s where the trouble begins.

His mom hasn’t pushed him to go and no one has mentioned it to his face, outside of the sleep-deprived Laura. When he last saw Stiles it looked like all of his efforts were going into this thing and like one little thing would have shattered him to pieces. He was grown up enough to admit that he would just be sitting in the front row going green with envy and that wasn’t fair to anyone, least of all Stiles. He had plans to go for a run, go to work and return home to Ben and Jerry that evening.  

“I’m not going,” Derek points out, not that either of them are listening. Cora has gone all puffed up all of a sudden as though her sister just struck her very last nerve, which, isn’t unreasonable.

Danny overtook Cora in town last week while on his cell and it has put him on her black list. She won’t return Stiles’s messages, either, much like Derek, albeit for very different reasons. She says she remains too busy judging him for his life choices.

“Whose side are you even on, Laur? You’re _betraying_ our family. I didn’t want to go to begin with,” Cora is abruptly on her feet and poking at Laura’s taffeta monstrosity, which does not go down well.

Derek wishes sometimes he could permanently install flesh coloured ear plugs; at least that way, he wouldn’t have to hear Stiles’s old messages on the answering machine and the excited commentary all around town. He could remove them for selected sporting events and family bonding time, but only the nice family members. Like Dex. Dex hardly says a word and by god, Derek would do anything for that right now.

“He’s our friend. We need to go and support our friend to marry a Yank.”

“You’re selling it so well.”

“This isn’t about what I want or what you want, Cora. We are doing this because mom told us so and we have to represent the Hale front. He’s family.”

“I’m not saying that he’s not family I just—”

“Can you stop?” asks Derek. “Go. Take the present I got him and just, have fun. Say congrats, dance with him, bring back cake and enjoy yourselves.”

“And what are you gonna do, hmm?” replies Laura, all bravado and irritation long gone.

Her and Cora now wear matching concerned looks, and it’s comical that both have adopted the Mom stance – all hands on hips and tilted heads. It’s a stance Derek recognises from Stiles’s leaving days.

“I’m gonna go to work,” admits Derek.

“Derek.”

“I’m fine,” he lies. “Can we talk about something else?”

Cora and Laura swap poorly disguised concerned looks, and he knows this means one thing: A Halevention.

     

   **18 AND 20**

_“I cannot believe you got wrecked before your own wedding party,” complained Stiles. “What are you doing? My dad is going to arrest you for public indecency at our own party.”_

_Derek groaned and he was approximately thirty seconds off from puking into the back of his own truck. He wondered briefly how he got back there and had to think about it. He remembered seeing Stiles all dapper and hot standing in front of the house. He vaguely remembered saying something about babies – oh yeah, Isaac and Boyd were dying over that one, that’s right—and he was finally shepherded into the back of the truck._

_“You don’t know either, huh,” said Stiles, a rueful smile playing at his lips._

_“You’re beautiful,” Derek tried to get out, but garbled sing song came out instead._

_“Yeah, you too babe,” Stiles muttered and maneuvered into the bar 's car park. He could see the lights and the cake from his seat and the thought of that cake turned his stomach real bad._

_“Why?” sighed Stiles, all of a sudden disappointed. “Why did you need to get drunk to face this?”_

_Derek was upset by the insinuation in his tone, because it wasn’t dread or anything like that, he’d been waiting to marry Stiles since he was nine._

_“I was nervous,” Derek tried again, and this one seemed like it came out._

_“Derek Hale, nervous to marry lil’ old me?” joked Stiles._

_“I just wanted this day to be great and I know I couldn’t afford the nice tux and we didn’t get to rent the town hall. I’m nervous because this is big and it needed to be amazing for you and it’s, it’s not,” Derek garbled on and he thought Stiles got it, because he rolled his eyes all fond and ridiculous._

_“Getting to marry you and be with you for the rest of my life is the amazing thing,” Stiles told him. “I’m telling you that because you’re not gonna remember a single goddamn thing I’ve just said. Sleep it off.”_

_Derek wanted to protest but Stiles slipped off his shoes and covered him in his tux jacket and put a paper bag by his head. He put a water bottle and aspirin like within hands reach, and the radio was on real quiet._

_“Sleep tight babe. I’ll come back for you in a couple hours.” Stiles ordered him, really, and bundled out of the car. Derek didn’t miss the murmured I love you and the thumb on his cheek before he left, either._

_Derek had a second to think that he was the luckiest man on earth and then that’s it, boom, he’s out for the count. He never forgets, though._

 

**MODERN DAY**

“Did you know Derek isn’t going to the wedding?” Laura bursts through the door and it’s like Talia raised them with wolves. In fact, that was an insult to waves.

“I suspected,” Talia shrugs and tries to emote mild disappointment. She suspects she fails.

“Why wouldn’t he go? He’s over Stiles. He’s moved on. Stiles is just his friend and it would be nice of him to go, he got him a gift and everything, why wouldn’t he just-” Laura blinks looking as though she’s just been hit with the obvious stick.

“It’s just occurred to her,” Cora mutters.

“Give her a minute to come round,” Derrell agrees, looking up from his magazine. Dex doesn’t even look up from his pancakes.

“Oh. He’s not over Stiles,” breathes Laura.

“Seriously? It took you this long?” demands Cora. Laura ignores her.

“Why didn’t anyone TELL ME WHAT WAS GOING ON? I just made him feel so bad for skipping out on the wedding and I should’ve thought about it, oh _God_. Of course he still loves Stiles. Of course. This makes so much sense.”

“And Stiles still loves him,” says Cora, as though she’s not dropping a truth bomb onto the entire household. “He said so at the bar before he slipped – I quote, “I love Derek Hale”.”

The house explodes with yelling. Cora’s defending herself against Laura and Derrell and Talia thinks she can be heard telling them all to calm down, but of course none of her disrespectful brats listen.

Dex’s wolf-whistle shuts them all up, and it’s not just because they’re on the Neighbourhood Watch’s banned list of _Things to Do._

“Isn’t it obvious what we’ve got to do?” he declares to the room. “Sabotage.”

“That’s…not a bad idea,” says Laura, swinging her head round to her mom. Her treacherous babies all look at her, somewhere between mischievous and hopeful.

“I’m not going to suggest that any of you ruining his wedding day,” orders Talia. All she can see is her dying best friend lying in a hospital bed asking her to dance with Stiles on his wedding day. “I’ll go and speak to Derek. I suggest the rest of you go and prepare yourself for this wedding, because it will be going ahead. That is life.”

“But mom,” whines Laura. She turns her most severe Hale Glare on her oldest child.

“That boy has had enough of us interfering in his life,” she says, which makes Laura flush with shame and lose all fight, just like she hoped.

They trample upstairs looking dejected and like she’s banned all future Christmases. Talia Hale just knows she has 2 hours to the wedding and counting.

 

**20 AND 22**

“ _You sure you’re alright?” asked Aaron, giving Derek a pat on his good shoulder._

_The house looks wonderful where Cora and Dex fixed it up last weekend. They’d sorted the gutters, painted the shutters and sent Derrell in to do the last, deep clean._

_Talia tidied up the small remainder of Stiles’s things into a box and arranged for Stiles’s dad to pick it up from them last week, while Derek got the takeout with Cora._

_They’d exchanged grim, sad looks and some muttered greetings._

_“How is he?” asked Talia, in spite of herself. She finally, after weeks of resentment and disappointment, admitted that missed Stiles terribly._

_She missed the daily reminder of her best friend, looking down at her with precisely the same eyes and smile, and his bold character. Derek seemed to come to life in the face of Stiles’s joking and bickering. He seemed like a shadow of that now._

_“He’s doing alright,” replied John, gruff. Stiles’s disappearance didn’t seem to have done him any good either, he’s got those tracked lines all around his mouth where he didn’t have them before, and it’s painful to see. She imagined that losing Stiles was like losing a member of family all over again. She could imagine, knowing Stiles the way she does, that that thought worried and haunted him just as much as any concern over Derek did._

_“Sure, dad,” replied Derek, almost reflexively. He’d been asked that question four times a day five months in a row and to be honest, he wants to say the truth, but that won’t help anybody, least of all himself.  “It’s got to happen, I had to come home at some point.”_

_He smiled at them both and headed on inside._

_“Talia…”_

_“I know,” she sighed, worried already. “He’s not ready. Cora rushed him.”_

_“She got sick, Talia,” Aaron nudged her arm affectionately._

_“Her sneeze drives him crazy,” she replied, and didn’t admit that it also drove her crazy. It was her husband’s sneeze, after all._

_“Are y’all gonna help?” Derek yelled from the house. Talia could see Derek struggled to juggle two huge boxes of art supplies in his hands, and smiled. She was so sure he would be fine._

**MODERN DAY**

“It’s a lovely day,” Talia announces to the back of Derek’s head, mildly amused at how he jumps out of his skin.

“I’d say so,” Derek agrees. Talia thinks it’s been some time since she’s seen her son so miserable; if she hadn’t seen Stiles make Derek happier and more like himself than ever, she really would have a problem with him.

 “I forgot to ask how your Sunday Open Day went?” asks Talia, settling herself on the porch steps. Betsy curls into her side, as quiet and miserable as her owner.

“Went alright,” grunts Derek from inside the car hood. “Stiles came by and bought five pieces. He seemed happy with everythin’, said he liked the butterfly one.”

It’s _wonderful_ that Derek brought Sties up on his own rather than her awkward prompting.

“We need to have a talk about Stiles,” suggests Talia gently and she’s not expecting the sudden way Derek’s shoulders just _give in._

The man that turns around is the same one that lived in her house for months and existed as a shell. She hadn’t noticed that his eyes had deep, almost carved black shadows underneath them. She wonders if he’s been sleeping much, if at all.

“What is there to say? He’s getting married, he’s _happy,_ he is all sorted and settled. What is there to even talk about?” he sounds desperate. Talia steels her heart.

“I think you should come to the wedding,” she replies, voice gentle. “I think it could give you some closure on things.”

“I can’t sit there and watch _him_ get married to someone else,” says Derek, no questions asked full in his tone. He brushes away some dust from his eyes.

Talia’s insides burn with misery. She doesn’t want to imagine watching her own husband get married to someone else, and can’t fathom what Derek must be feeling. She knows that he got over Stiles, because he said he had and acted like the Derek she knew, but his reappearance must have stirred things between them again. It’s difficult to imagine a Derek free Stiles and a Stiles free Derek. It doesn’t seem possible.  

“Mom, it’s just, I don’t know how to do _this_ without him there,” admits Derek. He gestures to the house and the truck and Betsy. He seems to give in and settle back against the truck, as though he’s too tired to hold up his own weight.  

“You’ve done great,” says Talia, rather fiercely. She didn’t raise her son to be reliant on someone else. Then again, she raised her son and Stiles together, as an inseparable pair, so what did she truly expect? She never planned on them being apart and neither did anyone else, for that matter.

“I know,” says Derek, all fight gone out of him. “I’ve just been doing what dad said, doing one step at a time, going forward, but I’ve been waiting. Improving everything and thinkin’ hey, Stiles would be impressed by this, so I’ll try that.”

“Oh, honey,” murmurs Talia, brushing Derek’s drooping duck butt hair from his face.

"I’m going to put that offer in on the house upriver, closer to the studio, and get a clean start.”

“That’s one way of doing it,” agrees Talia. “But what about—”

“Don’t say Stiles,” snaps Derek. “He doesn’t care about me, mom.”

“I was going to say Laura and her carpool,” smiles Talia. “But you are wrong, little one.”

Derek doesn’t correct his mom on the fact that he’s over thirty, six foot and two hundred and eighty pounds on a good day.

“Stiles loves you. He said it in public and I –and the rest of the town—have seen the way he still looks at you.”

Derek’s head jerks upright so quickly it looks like it hurts.

“I’m not saying you break up the marriage or go careening in, because I better have taught you better than that, but. I just thought you should know you’re not alone in how you’re feeling,” Talia tries to make her voice as gentle as possible. “Besides, one in four marriages end in divorce.”

Derek does crack a smile at that one, which was what she was going for.

“I’ll see you at home later. I’ve got the fridge all stocked up with Cookie Dough,” Talia nudges his arm affectionately. Derek looks pleasantly surprised, like he doesn’t know that his mom knows exactly how he thinks and works.

“But Laura,”

“Laura will grow and appreciate different flavours of Ben and Jerry’s,” Talia states. “She is nearing thirty-five and she _will_ stop eating the Caramel Chew Chew.”

“Thanks,” Derek scuffs the dirt track with his foot. She can’t help but wrangle him in for a hug before shooing him back indoors. She can barely stand to drive off and leave him here.

 

  **20 AND 22**

_“Can you put me through to Beacon Hills, please? South Alabama?” Stiles asked the operator, hardly daring to draw a breath. He had too much to drink, he was in his pj’s and so many bad life decisions had been made, so he wondered what was one more?_

_He had to call up Derek, because he abandoned him and he physically could not stop thinking about him and had to beg him to take Stiles back. Stiles was terrified that someone else would answer their home phone and he’d be reminded that his actions were unforgivable and he was an awful, cowardly human being; Derek deserved to move on. Derek should move on. Stiles, especially, should move on. Stiles wanted Derek to be happy, had always wanted to be the one to make him happy, and that’s what he will work towards._

_See, Stiles had a four-year plan. He worked through his degree and he had two-part time jobs and he’s sold a bunch of his stuff on eBay. He was considering graduation job offers, especially one at Apple, which was a two-year programme with great prospects and an office only forty minutes from Beacon Hills._

_He had it planned exactly how it will play out; he’d go home and beg Derek to take him back with everything he has, wait for as long as it took for Derek to realise he’s staying for good and never leaving him again._

_He’d knock on the house’s door and say, “I’m home”, and Derek will have missed him as much as Stiles has missed him. It will take time and mending and all the apologies Stiles can voice, but he knew he and Derek belonged together._

_“Unfortunately, there is no one around to take your call,” the automated voice machine replied. “Would you like to leave a message?”_

_“I miss you,” Stiles said down the phone, embarrassed at how his throat his choking up with tears. “I’ll come back to you as soon as I can. I’m so sorry Derek. Derek?”_

_The phone bleeps and there’s a ruffle of movement as though the call has been picked up, and then there’s a bang, like someone dropped the phone in horror. Then there’s a scrabbling and someone declines his call._

_“That’s that,” decided Stiles._

_He tried again, of course. Because he’s Stiles and he never could give anything up until it’s over, and he was worried he would never feel over Derek._

_Finally, two hours later, someone answered. A girl and she sounded breathless._

_“Hey?” Her voice was mid laugh. Stiles let the silence drag on, because he knew Derek would have moved on. He just needed confirmation, really, that’s all, and he was okay with it, really. He decided then and there he needed to let go and get over everything. The best way to do that of course, would be to break the ties between them both._

_“Who was it?” Derek asked Erica, who generously leaned over mid-game to answer his newly reconnected phone. She tried to do the same thing only a couple hours ago and dropped the phone, so this was growth._

_“One of those perves breathing down the phone,” Erica shrugged and Boyd demanded that Derek press play on the football game._

_They pretend to ignore Derek’s disappointed look._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm such a negligent writer. Life got in the way, got myself a better job and I'm all moved out and yeah...please forgive me?


	12. Give Me Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a beast. Bless you if you make it through it.

Laura chooses the Nissan for their getaway car, because it’s perfect; it has the largest backseat out of all the cars in the Hale garage and according to Dex, is soundproof, which is an important factor in Laura Hale’s Geni _us_ Plan.

“I’m not sure,” Cora bites her lip and continues to worry, like she's been doing ever since her demon older sister came up with the dang idea. Laura is, as always, unswayable and dedicated to cause ‘Let’s mess with Stiles Stilinski’. They have agreed that while their mom said they couldn’t sabotage his wedding, she never said anything about his heart.

“He needs to know what he’s done,” Laura insists with a casual wave of her hand over the driving wheel. Some jackass in a honda _beeps_ in outrage; there have been far too many Yanks in town for the wedding. “You _know_ mom didn’t make him feel bad and like, the Sherriff and his friends for sure just said _welcome home_. No one said ‘you broke Derek Hale’s heart’. We owe it to Derek to put this right.”

“You just wanna see him squirm.”

Laura doesn’t deny it.

 

John, as always, looks pleased to see them. He has a soft spot for the Hales and isn’t ashamed to show it, usually involving car parking tickets. Their own dad is the worst for getting them.

“Come on girls, be reasonable about this,” protests John when he spots their duct tape and black, ninja clothes. He says it half-heartedly. Cora wonders if they’re going to get away with this with _approval_ from the father of the groom.

Laura’s grin is like a shark’s.  

“Take him to the west side of Kit’s, it’ll be dead and the patrol doesn’t cover that part,” he mutters. “You’ve got until 7, ‘cause the service starts at 9.”

“Who even has a night-time wedding?” hisses Laura as they sneak upstairs.

“You did, Laura.” Cora points out, even as they round the corner in front of Stiles’ room.

“Well I’m judging me for it.”

Stiles’ room is dimly lit, with the boy in question tucked neatly under his quilts and asleep. He’s restless and twitchy even while asleep, and Cora thinks she hears him say _Derek._ She can’t help but wonder where the heck Danny is, because Stiles looks a mess even asleep, like he’s just been dumped rather than it’s his wedding day.

Laura knocks some books off his desk like the idiot she is, which wakes Stiles up, because of course it _does._

“What’re you doing?” Stiles screeches, until Laura puts the duct tape over his mouth.

“It’s for your own good,” Laura tells him grimly. Stiles give her reproachful, betrayed Disney princess eyes.

Cora takes his feet and Laura takes his upper body. Thankfully they both lift, so Stiles’ –surprisingly bulky and muscled—body doesn’t feel impossible. There are photos on the fridge back home of Cora lifting up a cheerful Derek on Labour Day last year.

Stiles wriggles on the stairs and nearly falls down in his desperation to complain at them.   

“ _Dad_ ,” somehow, through the duct tape, they can hear Stiles’ shrieked outrage.

“Listen to your elder Hales,” John advises over his newspaper. He’s eating bacon, Cora notices, like this is _revenge_.

“She’s _younger_ than me,” Stiles twists himself like a fish to yell that the last part.

“Where are we going?” Stiles squawks at them after he’s deposited in the back of the car.

“Shush,” Laura picks up her vibrating phone with no hint of trepidation.

“ _What are you two up to?”_ Talia’s voice sounds suspicious, rightly so, because even Stiles can hear the goddamn mischief in Laura’s voice and her mom has to be able to.

“We’re just going to get a burger with Stiles,” Laura says as though this is normal behaviour. They were never the closest even when he lived there in high school, because she annoyed Derek – continues to annoy Derek, apparently—on purpose and to no end.

“Laura,” Talia’s voice is as serious as it was when she told him off in the car park.

“It’s educational.” Stiles is right, there is a hint of whine in Laura’s _I-am-so-innocent_ voice.

“I told you not to!” Talia sounds like she is getting really angry now. He wonders how long Laura and Cora have been planning to kidnap him for. They have balaclavas, a spare set of handcuffs and snacks in the back seat.

“The service is getting really bad sorry mom, gonna have to go.” Cora makes a crackling sound with her mouth.

“Laura Mary Anne Hale – ”

“Well that could’ve been awkward,” breathes Laura, beaming at them both. She stuffs the phone away like it’s a dangerous animal. It doesn’t stop vibrating the entire time he’s in the car.

“Yeah, thank God,” mutters Cora sarcastically. He likes Cora.

Laura rips the duct tape off when they get to the secluded, wooded Kit’s Corner. At least there are only two people around to hear him squawk.

Stiles knows this is a local date spot because he got caught here by one of his dad’s favourite deputies blowing Derek when he was 17. It was possibly the most awkward moment of his life, though this is a strong contender.

“Are you kidnapping me?” is the first thing Stiles asks, haughty and ruffled. How he looks dignified while in his dirty pyjamas, Cora will never know.

“You’re not a kid,” Cora tells him.

“Good point,” Laura agrees, almost serene.

Stiles catches his breath for a couple of minutes and tries to figure out their plan; do they want to advise him against Danny? On his wedding day? It seems pretty tasteless, even for them. The reality turns out to be far worse, but he thinks, far more deserved.

“You’re scaring me.” Stiles says finally, after the Hale Thinking Faces grow to be too much for him.

“You’re an awful person,” Cora says without a hint of remorse. She spares him no small moment of mercy and continues, “you _dump_ our brother after some small interrogation while he’s badly injured and disappear from our lives for years. And then you come back like it’s no big thing, no big deal – like, what is _wrong with y’all.”_

“I just—”

“And you have the _gall_ to string him along while you’re here! Did you even tell him you were engaged? Probably just said _Derek, look at me with my bambi eyes and ripped legs and nice ass,”_ Laura interjects.

“Laura,” Cora looks stern. He can believe that she’s a teacher.

“My point is that, what do you do again? Cycling?

“ _Laura_.”

“Right. You sweep back in uninvited and you make Derek fall back in love with you. It’s so selfish,”

“He loves me?” There’s something about the broken way Stiles’ breath catches on the words that makes Cora feel unbearably sad.

“Well, _duh,_ how oblivious are you? I thought he went to Columbia,” Laura turns to Cora, accusatory.

“I think you broke him Laura,” she murmurs, watching Stiles turn grey and his mouth set into a firm, upset line. It’s not an unfamiliar expression, she remembers how he looked in the hospital while waiting to hear whether Derek was okay.

“Derek knows that I’m sorry, I’ve apologised and I’m trying to prove how sorry I am-”

“Well, try harder,” Laura throws her hair over her shoulder as though to punctuate her point.

“He wants me out of his life so I’m going back to New York,” Stiles sounds like he’s trying to convince himself, and failing. Laura and Cora swap frustrated looks.

“Are you even listening to what we’re saying?

“I think he’s a lost cause.”

“Didn’t you drop him on his head when he was a kid?”

“I need to go,” Stiles looks like he’s about to throw up, but the Hales are tough. Cora can’t count the amount of times Laura, Derrell and Dex have puked on her. Derek, thankfully, has a stronger stomach than the three of them combined.

“I set him up on dates you know,” says Cora abruptly, her jaw jutting in that stubborn way she has. Stiles tells himself he can’t feel jealous and awful because it’s completely unreasonable to feel like that. Cora doesn’t mention the Taylor Swift and ‘Ugly Heart’ she played Derek on repeat, because they didn’t even work.

“He went on a couple and they were terrible. They both knew he was waiting on someone else, but I don’t think you got that memo. Clearly he wasn’t that hard to get over.” Cora knows that she’s hitting below the belt and it’s because she wants to see a reaction; she knows Stiles cares, deep down, she knows that he’s never quite gotten over Derek. His Yank façade is slipping.

“You’re wrong – leaving Derek here and going to New York was the hardest thing I have _ever_ done,” Stiles bares his teeth at them and his voice goes ragged and annoyed.

“So you didn’t get over him then?” asks Laura, almost casually.

Stiles is silent for several minutes though they can feel his brain working.

“Told you so,” Laura is smug.

“You just found out!”

“I’m a horrible person,” Stiles’ breath is abruptly uneven and he buries his face in his hands.

“For planning to marry a random dude even though you’re in love with my brother?”

“Yeah that is pretty awful,” Laura agrees.

“I care about Danny,” Stiles tries, and to even their ears in a small car it sounds weak. It sounds like he’s lying to himself, if the truth is told. 

“But do you want to wake up next to him every single day for the rest of your life and rock your babies on the front porch together?”

“They are dudes.”

“Cora, you’re ruining my image.”

Stiles begins to shake. The sisters swap concerned looks.

“We broke him,” Laura mutters out of the corner of her mouth.

“Laura, I think he’s had enough.”

Stiles starts to have his first panic attack in _years._

 

“We’ll take you home, honey,” says Laura, trying to look assuring in the mirror.

 Stiles hasn’t taken his head out of his hands since it happened and despite being checked over by Dr Erica Reyes, still can’t stop shaking. Cora looks shell-shocked and guilty as anything.

Laura and Cora never dealt with Stiles’ panic attacks—only Derek ever had, just after his mom had died, and they couldn’t very well go ringing Derek now, could they, especially since they were under strict orders not to do anything untoward with Stiles. Laura couldn’t imagine how he’d react if she told him they scolded his ex-husband into a panic attack. She would definitely get yelled at, just like the last time she meddled in his marriage; she’d never seen him angrier than he was that day, all bruised and straining to get out of bed.

“Do you want us to call Derek?” asks Cora, as gentle as her voice gets. Stiles shakes his head as a vehement _no._ “Danny?”

She must feel bad, Laura thinks. Stiles goes green at the very thought.

“Do you want food?” asks Laura. “Does he want food?”

“I bet he just wants to go home, right?” Cora tries to smile.

They help Stiles out of the back of the Nissan and into his house. John looks up from the table and can instantly tell something’s wrong, or his Stiles radar is just really that great.

 “We’ll…see you at the wedding?” says Laura.

At the mention of that Stiles goes grey and disappears upstairs, stumbling a little.

“What did you do?” They hadn’t counted on Sherriff Stilinski. Laura gulps.

“He uh, had a panic attack? After we asked about his feelings for Derek? And if he wanted a future with Danny?”

“We made him feel bad for leaving and still loving Derek too,” adds Cora.

“You did _WHAT,_ ” John’s voice is a furious rumble.

“We just felt it was prudent to make sure Stiles knew his feelings and Derek knows his. If Stiles is just marrying Danny because he thinks Derek hates him and he’ll be alone otherwise, we just wanted to let him know that that’s not the case. Like, at all. The opposite, actually.” Laura blurts out, just like she does when she’s nervous.

“Listen, did you even tell him off for what he did to Derek?” asks Cora, because that’s really the heart of it all.

“He did that to himself,” snaps John. “If you knew my son at all – and I’m disappointed to see that it really doesn’t seem like it—you’d _know_ he’s his own worst enemy. I reamed him out for what he did, no doubt about it, but he’s hated himself ever since he left Alabama. He feels guilty about it all the time and he had real bad depression in college, if you didn’t know. Worrying about everything gives him stomach ulcers, anxiety and he _grinds_ his teeth constantly; do not think that my kid got off easy. Derek haunts him every day.”

“Oh,” Cora’s throat seems to be stuck together.

“So you reminding him what a rat’s ass he is? That’ll really help,” sighs John. “I need to go check he hasn’t gone back to bed.”

“John, we’re so sorry,” he ignores them and heads out of the kitchen.

“Do you know what he’s been doing ever since Danny turned up?” a petite redhead rounds into the kitchen out of fucking _nowhere,_ with crossed arms and a ferocious expression.

Laura gulps though she clears the girl by a foot.

“ _Moping_. His sleeping’s off and he won’t eat and he’s really anxious. He’s a piece of shit for ditching Derek _years ago_ , no one’s doubting _that_ , but just let him not feel guilty for a minute, won’t you?” she narrows her eyes dangerously, just like she’s _daring_ them to disagree with her. They don’t.

Cora realises that this has to be Lydia Martin, the red headed Yank boss, she remembers Allison and Stiles talking about her on their drunken bar crawl.

“Now listen here,” Laura starts, and doesn’t even get to finish.

“No. Get out, come to the wedding if you want, but don’t say a word to Stiles. He needs to focus.”

“Derek loves Stiles, you know,” adds Cora, like it isn’t obvious to anyone with eyes.

“Did it take you long to figure that out?” Lydia says sweetly. She doesn’t wait for an answer and flounces away from them, upstairs.

 

“Well, that went really well,” Laura has been massaging her temples since they left the Stilinski house.

“It was your idea,” Cora grumbles, because not only will her parents kill her, but her new boyfriend – god it’s weird to call him that—Isaac, is thoroughly annoyed.

“Do you want to tell Derek so he can check in?”

“He’s getting married in a couple hours, Laura. The least we could do is just go home and get ready. Get out of his hair.”

“We’re going to get in so much trouble.” Cora doesn’t have the heart to disagree with her. It feels like she’s a teenager again and she’s been caught out smoking round the back of the school.

They trudge into the house and it’s like an episode of _Empire,_ everyone’s just standing around, looking murderous, looking ready for a confrontation. Laura deflates like a balloon.

“You may have ruined _everything._ He could’ve gone back to Derek, they could have done it and now—he’s going to never want to be near us again! Why can’t you focus on your own life Laura? Are you that bored that you feel you must interfere in _everyone’s life_?” Talia doesn’t even try to be rational—she goes straight for rage and disappointment.

Matthew, Laura’s husband, makes an agreeing sound. He’s not surprised by her antics, in all honesty, but he’s still not happy with it. Laura withers under their glares.

“I can’t believe you did this,” Their dad is looking at them with the kind of sadness he saves for the Dolphins losing.

“I just wanted to knock it into his head that Derek loves him. That’s it!” Laura protests with all the sincerity she can muster. Their mom just rolls her eyes. 

“You don’t tell the boy that’s just about to get married _that_!” She sounds like she isn’t sure when she went so wrong.

“Cora, I expected more of you,” their dad shakes his head at her and she’s mentally figuring out how many tubs of paint it will take for Derek to forgive her, because her next paycheque will go towards _solely_ that. After the lengthy apology letter to Stiles and Derek she’s already drafting in her head, of course.

“Laura, we will have a discussion over this at a later time. You need to get ready and tell Derek what you did.” Talia’s voice is as severe as its ever been, and she is quite literally red with rage.

“But mom –” Laura doesn’t know why she even _tries_ to protest.

“Y’all need to pick up his present anyway. You and Cora can take your half with you on the way.”

“He’s gonna kill me,” Laura groans.

“Take photos, dear,” Talia advises Matthew with the shadow of a smirk on her face.

“ _Mom_.”

 

Derek stalks out of his house as soon as the Prius turns in the drive and boy, does he look furious. Cora hasn’t seen him so animated and alive since, well, when Stiles was here last. She hadn’t realised just how quiet and bored Derek had been before, which on top of today’s situation, makes her feel like the best sister on the planet.

“ _What the hell_ , Laura? Cora?” Derek’s jaw is taut with rage.

“How did he hear?” Laura mutters, sounding vaguely panicked. She tries a smile.

“What were you thinking.” Derek’s stopped verbalising fully in his anger; the first to go, question marks.

“He had a panic attack, he’s fine, we took him to Dr Reyes, she gave him the all clear. She yelled at us already, mom has, John has, and we think Lydia did? Either way, let us have it,” says Cora wearily.

“I’m sorry,” pleads Laura, and that makes Derek get more upset than angry.

“Did you want to hurt him?”

“No, we were just,” Laura struggles with her words.

“Defending your honour,” Cora continues. Derek does not look impressed.

“He lost that a long time ago,” Isaac calls from the car. Cora cringes because hearing her boyfriend say that is _sickening._

“ _Ew,”_ the word slithers out of her mouth.

“I don’t need you to make me feel better by making Stiles feel bad. That’s not right.” Derek looks increasingly distressed and upset.

“We didn’t mean to make him feel bad,” says Laura.

“Well, you did.” Derek’s never been further from a smile.

“Derek, we’re sorry,”

“Apologise to Stiles, not to me. He’s the one that deserves it.” Derek shrugs them off carelessly and stalks back to the house. It’s as though he doesn’t care, but they know his brother, and can see the tightness in his shoulders and the exhaustion on his face. He really is not okay.

“We have,” Cora calls at him, but he doesn’t turn around.

“Can we have his present?” Isaac yells. Cora pulls a face at him and he just shrugs; Isaac doesn’t deal with any manpain that well, unless it’s his own.

Derek thrusts the present in their faces and stalks back to his house. Betsy stares at them with the sort of judgement one associates with elderly women at the store.

“Betsy,” Derek calls, and she bounds in.

Cora and Laura look at each other guiltily.

 

Stiles can’t get his heart rate to slow down, despite Lydia and his dad’s attempts. They've left him to his own devices after he basically shouted at them to leave him alone. He’s so humiliated that he had his fifth panic attack in only a couple weeks in front of his dad, Erica, Lydia and Derek’s sisters. He just reacted and panicked because they had the balls to vocalise what he’s been worrying over for _years_. He’s been panicking for a long time and it seems like his feelings are stronger than ever when he’s in Beacon Hills. He doesn’t know what to do about anything. He does know that he just wants to be near Derek right now and that says it all, really. He’s told himself enough times to stop feeling the way he does, and it’s not helping. He has to speak to Danny.

Derek stares off into the distance, in a way that would make his mom fret. Somewhere soon, probably up by the plantation, Stiles will proclaim his everlasting love for Danny. Derek is slowly coming to terms with it. The worst part of it all, he thinks, is that he doesn’t even hate Danny. He just wants Stiles to be happy and he’s quietly hopeful that Danny can give that to him. He loves Stiles, knows it as deep as his bones, and Danny can give him the life he deserves. Derek will tell himself that is enough and it’ll be fine, for as long as it takes for it to become true.

**24 AND 26**

_“Yeah, let out that rage Derek,” Erica called from the sofa with a beer in one hand and an old, forgotten hoodie of Stiles’ in the other. She’d purloined it from his dad after surgery. “What do you hate about him?”_

_“How he looks in a three-piece suit,” Derek was in full chanting, tribal mode. It would be real convincing if his voice didn’t wobble with upset._

_“Yeah, go on,” Erica had her eyes on the Playoffs behind his head._

_“How his eyes go all gold in sunlight,” Derek clutched the hoodie to his chest and stared out the window, like some damsel in the movies Erica would watch with her nana. The warm home smell of Stiles’ hoodie filled Derek with a bitter sort of longing._

_“Um,” Erica is very unsure of what to do. She was supposed to come over and get Derek all fired up and angry. She was still pissed at Stiles for leaving, she was so angry and she missed him so much, the jackass, the boys decided she’d be the one to do this gathering. Derek’s feelings were not going anywhere fast and it’d been years now. Erica was best at tough love, after all._

_“His hugs,” Derek was definitely pining._

_“Derek—”_

_“He always made fun of everything I said. Why did he go?” His words were a whine. She wondered if in years’ time, it’ll still be the same; if you add alcohol to Derek Hale, you create an emotional wreck over Stiles Stilinski._

_“Boyd, this is one for you,” Erica hissed into a phone and tried not to cry at the sight of Derek dragging out the family albums to sit and pore through his and Stiles’ wedding photos. “He’s gone squishy again.”_

_*****_

_“There’s got to be something wrong with this design,” Lydia murmured over a laptop to her boss on the other end of the line. “It’s too thin, too droppable, too easily lost. Allison agrees so we’ll send that critique right back.”_

_Her boss agreed, the darling, and ended the call with the promise of a bonus just_ shining _in the air. Lydia let herself get momentarily distracted and put Allison on loudspeaker._

_“She loved the ideas,” Lydia tried not to gush but it was difficult._

_“Lydia, we knew she would. Do you want to go shopping at the weekend? I broke my heel on the subway this morning,”_

_“Not the Jimmy Choos,” Lydia’s voice was hushed and reverent. She loved those shoes more than she loved Allison. More than she loved the tapestry of algorithms she was working on right now._

_“Yeah they got caught in a storm grate,” Allison sounded rueful. “I need an immediate replacement.”_

_“Reminds me, I wanted to read that Vidal book Susan recommended me. I’m bored of Vonnegut.”_

_“Not teaching you much, these days?” Allison was definitely mocking her. “Shoot, I’ve got a call. Give me a minute.”_

_Lydia hung up and wondered how many stamps she had left on her Barnes and Noble card. Maybe she was due an upgrade, which would be well deserved and exciting. Lydia resigned herself to two hours in the store that evening, (which she would only admit over her dead body that she loved doing)._

_“Stiles is drunk downstairs in the bar,” Allison told her when she called back. “What do you want me to do?”_

_“It’s out of office hours, I’m not his boss,” Lydia sounded positively gleeful._

_“You promised you wouldn’t interrogate him.”_

_Stiles remained a little bit of a mess whenever he got drunk; the southern came out and so did all his reminiscing about his friends and especially, Derek. Lydia’s was eager for some blackmail fodder after he caught her and Ethan from accounting on the copier last December._

_“I’ll pick you up on my way down and we’ll get him home,” Lydia did a good show of sounding sincere and caring._

_“_ Sure, _” Allison laughed._

_When they got downstairs, they found the barman despairing over Stiles, who was slumped over and holding his drink like it was his precious._

_“I’m a horrible person, didn’t ya know?” There was no humour in his words, just bitter, resigned truth of the guilty._

_“Oh I’ve known forever, just as long as you know too,” Allison said without really considering what’d been bothering him for as long as she’s known him. She wondered just what he’d been drinking and how long he’d been there alone; he left to go home four hours ago._

_“Honey, we need to take y’all home,” Lydia’s definitely doing it on purpose. She’s as New York as you can get._

_“Derek wouldn’t make me get home. We’d just snuggle behind his parents’ bar; they’ve got a spare room back there.”_

_“Oh yeah? Is it like home?”_

_“I miss him so much,” Stiles whispered the comment into his JD and coke._

_Allison had a sinking feeling that they were not talking about his hometown anymore._

_“The city’s just not the same without him, hmm?” Lydia was pure evil at 5ft 2._

_“It’s like I’ve got this gaping_ thing _right here where my heart’s supposed to go.” Stiles patted his chest with a sort of devastated, ‘hey I have nothing and I will make this is funny but I’m not dealing with it’ air._

_“Stiles,” Allison grew more concerned by the word._

_“I hear him all the time in my head judging me and I can’t call him and I want – I_ want _-” Stiles struggled to get his words together to describe Derek Hale._

_“Have you felt like that for long?” Allison was deadly serious now and it confused Lydia. She hadn’t seen Allison this serious since she interviewed her for her job. Lydia remembered that Allison was not entirely unfamiliar with the concept of loss and grieving, so surely this brought up some memories for her._

_“Ever since I left.” He put his head in his hands and made a rumble of complaint that was pitiful and he sounded disgusted at himself. Allison looked alarmed and swapped looks with Lydia._

_It was really a big deal because Stiles had been dating Danny now for a couple months, things were apparently good between them, they’re cosy, but Stiles seemed miserable all the time because he was missing something in his life or someone, which made so much more sense than him just being a bitch._

_Lydia felt so guilty that she took them both home, ordered pizza and they slept on her huge L shaped sofa until far too late the next day. She even took them for brunch._

_Stiles avoided the topic of Derek and Beacon Hills after that, and neither of them pushed him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading xxxxx


	13. Maybe if I do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You…in my entire life I have never met someone so manipulative, so deceitful…and I work with criminals!” Mrs Mahealani goes from 0 to furious in no time at all.

Scott, bless his heart, is the only one able to stop his panic attack when he arrives all decked out in a suit, Allison on his arm.

Scott shrugs it off like it’s no big deal and blames it on being used to Ms Lilian’s poodle having them all the time, but they both know that’s a lie. Stiles is going to buy him a pizza every fortnight for the rest of his life in an apology for his negligence.

“Uh Stiles, if you want me to call Danny or other people for you,” Scott starts, a little worried line appearing on his forehead and his hands start to twist in uncertainty. It’s hard to tell your best friend that disappeared for years that you don’t think he should be marrying the person he’s about to.

“I’ve tried,” Stiles croaks out, voice rusty from the panicking and the whole not breathing part, which was fun, really. He feels ready to dive into bed and never leave.

“Danny won’t answer your calls?” asks Allison, dimpling at him in sympathy. It helps.

“Not since he came up here, right?” snaps Lydia, like a furious mama. Stiles just nods with the air of someone that wants to disappear from life altogether. “I don’t know what he’s doing. He won’t answer mine either.”

“That’s why he didn’t get back to me,” Allison exclaims suddenly, smacking Scott’s arm. “I _told you_ he got my message.”

“Ow, babe,” Scott complains and Allison smiles back with an apology pat of the arm.

Something in Stiles’s chest clenches at the sight of them together and he suddenly, fiercely, misses having that sort of easy and close companionship with Derek.

He’d barely just started dating Danny before he’d proposed and it’s like Danny doesn’t even want to know him anymore, but he’s okay with getting married to him. It makes no sense. Stiles knows he’s not easy to be around, to live with, but Danny hardly wants to be associated to him.

 Heck, his dad didn’t even receive a wedding invitation, that’s how little he’s been involved in the process since Mama Mahealani got involved (and banished him after he joked about the orchids) and Danny hasn’t picked up his calls since. Erica says that his mom wrote them a huge cheque, and that’s it, that’s all the interaction she’s had with the wedding process. Danny’s mom made Erica and her Nana move out until the wedding’s over, for God’s sake.

(Though the small upside to that, Erica and Boyd get to live together and Nana gets to see that Boyd’s part of town is perfectly safe to live in. Besides, he thinks that Nana Boyd and Nana Reyes are getting on like a house on fire, if their Facebooks are anything to go by.)

“We get ready for the wedding, if we can’t get hold of Danny before that,” suggests Lydia, with an unnaturally concerned look on her face. “Stiles, do what you’ve got to do when you get there. If you want to marry the piece of _sh_ -” Lydia withdraws at the death glare from Allison. “That socialising gem, you can. If you decide not to, you can discuss things with Danny in the hall before you go out to say your vows in front of everyone.”

“I’m not sure—” disagrees Allison, biting at her lip. Her baby browns are worried which in turn worries Stiles.

 “What other choice do I have?” asks Stiles, more to himself that the crowd that has congregated in his room. “I can’t just not show up.”

“Well,” Erica shrugs, and Boyd frowns at her until she looks vaguely guilty.

“Just don’t tell him in front of everyone,” suggests Boyd. “If you can’t get him on the phone just get him somewhere away from his mom and talk things out.”

“I knew I liked you,” sighs Stiles.

“Everyone does,” Boyd shrugs. “We’ll leave you to it.”

He ushers Lydia, Erica, Allison and Scott out of the room. Stiles thinks he can hear Erica calling Isaac and giving him the low down, which means the Hales will know everything. Stiles finds that he doesn’t particularly care.

His dad looks disappointed.

“I’m sorry,” says Stiles, that familiar feeling of guilt settling in his stomach.

He’s an awful person for letting things get this far, for inconveniencing his dad, for stringing Danny along, for not telling Derek how he feels sooner...sometimes he doesn’t know why he doesn’t just live under a bridge alone.

Stiles’ dad brings him into a Stilinski hug that feels like it is never-ending.

“No one blames you for anything, kid,” says John eventually. “Not the Hales, not really. Especially not Derek. Maybe the Mahealanis after today, but you’ll get on with that.”

Stiles scratches the back of his head– he will forever feel embarrassed and ashamed about what Derek’s sisters said to him in the car, purely because they were speaking the truth that no one else wanted to say. He refuses to be that coward that runs away and leaves people behind again. He’s not sure what he’s going to do after the wedding, but he’s not going anywhere fast.

“I don’t want to hurt Danny,” says Stiles.

He doesn’t want to have to tell Danny at the wedding, he would much rather just meet him separately and then Stiles will take care of all the guests and pay off the wedding. He’ll be paying it off until he’s eighty, if the paparazzi photos are anywhere near accurate, but he’ll do it.

“I don’t know, son, just say it nicely,” his dad just scrunches his nose – so that’s where he gets that tell from—and leaves him to it. Wow, so his dad really is not a fan of Danny, somehow like everyone else in his life.

Stiles looks at his reflection in the mirror, at the polished tuxedo that someone from Danny’s camp had sent over, without any input from Stiles or anyone else. Lydia wasn’t pleased.

He barely looks like himself and he’s finally realising that he has to find that again.

 

Danny doesn’t pick up the phone despite the 97 missed calls from Stiles and the ones from his friends. Stiles thinks he’s getting fazed out on his wedding day, which is so weird. Things only get weirder from there.

Firstly, no one even lets him through the gate at first, because they don’t know who he is. He has to show I.D. to get into his own wedding, for God’s sake, and he definitely wouldn’t’ve hired bouncers. It’s not a club, just a wedding that has been blown out of all proportions.

His dad, the awkward selection of Hales and his friends are no longer invited to his wedding either so that’s an extra battle. They get patted down, their bags searched and licences ran through the machines too. Stiles fears for the bouncer that gets up and personal with Lydia, because she hisses in his face, _I know where you live._

When they eventually get in, they’re faced with a packed courtyard of Northerners, who look terrified that they will be fed to the pigs. Stiles’ dad—bless him, really—takes over and puts Stiles’ neighbours and old school friends on the empty parts of the aisle.

Stiles shoos his clingy friends towards the courtyard and has a wander round, looking for Danny. While he’s upstairs he spots the Hales settling into the third row from the back, looking somewhat pleased to be there. Laura looks recently admonished and wears a similar expression of guilt to Cora.

Stiles makes his way back downstairs and gets confronted by the miserable sight of Danny by the doors to the courtyard, picking out his nails like he’d rather be anywhere but there.

His best man, Jackson, is standing by his side and muttering under his breath. Probably some running diatribe about how Alabama is beneath him and how his dad could buy every house in town with money to spare. Socialites with Trust Funds, everybody. Jackson is an insult to Blair Waldorf.  

“Danny,” says Stiles in relief and God, even the sound of his voice makes Danny jump. He gives Stiles an uneasy look.

“Hi to you too, Stiles,” snarks Jackson, and Jesus, Stiles has not missed jackass Whittemore hanging around.

“Isn’t that rude,” Lydia sighs, out of nowhere and leaning up against the wall in an almost sensuous way, eyeing Jackson.

He abruptly straightens himself and brings his shoulders back in an attempt to impress her with some kind of masculinity. God, Stiles has missed the last few months when Lydia would torture Jackson over his crush on her. Jackson, quite literally, would do anything she asked him to do and if he didn't dislike Jackass so much, he would pity him. Lydia will eat him alive, when she gets the chance to. 

“Lydia,” jackass greets, sounding painfully eager and just two shades too delighted for someone who looked disgusted up until twenty seconds ago.

“Shall we go and find a seat?” asks Lydia, though it’s not really a question as much as it is an order.

Jackson doesn’t hesitate to hop to attention and take her arm. Lydia drops a wink at Stiles and lets jackass lead her away from them. He’s pretty sure Lydia actually thinks he’s hot but either way, it’s hilarious and painful to watch.

“We need to talk,” pleads Stiles, though Danny rolls his eyes.

“ _We_ have to get married,” Danny corrects him and starts to walk away, towards the courtyard full of people and the vicar, oh god.

A small crash stops Danny in his tracks, when the door is almost knocked off its hinges by a dark haired, suited up man that Stiles doesn’t immediately recognise, but the ensuing cursing is horribly familiar.

“Mr Stilinski—” yelps old Coach Finstock before he’s tackled to the ground by security Stiles didn’t even hire. Stiles credits all his years as a Lacrosse coach that he doesn’t even flinch at the tackle, though he’s now the best attorney in town. He’s Derek’s lawyer, in fact.

“Coach Finstock? Wait – let him go!” orders Stiles. The guards don’t really listen to him but wait for Danny to wave his hands _eventually_ , looking so bored; what is his life?

“Well now that you’re _done_ cracking my ribs,” he sneers at the guards. “Mr Stilinski, you didn’t sign your half of the divorce papers.”

He shoves the familiar papers at him and Stiles can see that Derek signed it weeks ago, just like he asked him to, but Stiles never did. He can’t remember even thinking about the papers for weeks.

“Does anyone have a pen?” asks Stiles, panicked and breathless. He’s not sure how this happened. He’s not 100% sure he wants to do anything about it.

He can hardly hear Finstock calling him a jackass over everyone’s muttering.

His friends, still unseated, start rummaging in their pockets for a pen, and all of them come up empty handed. Somehow, Lydia Martin, type A to a fault and paranoid about writing down her genius ideas, comes up empty handed and smirking in a way that he doesn’t trust.

Jackson looks outraged until Lydia tells him to go get her a drink and he lurches to get her one, embarrassingly. Stiles wonders where she’s keeping his balls.

The guests in the courtyard are rummaging because of course, it’s wonderful, they’ve heard every word Finstock has uttered and they want to help, of course.

“Here,” says Talia, of all people, stepping forward with a gentle smile on her face. She puts a  pen to his hands and steps back again. Derek’s eyes smile at him over the paper and it resolves every single worry in his mind. 

He can’t do this. All he can think is that things like this happen for a reason.

“Danny, we can’t get married,” Stiles steels his stomach against the fear of the unknown, because they can’t do this, there is no way that he could get married to Danny when he doesn’t love him. He can see perfectly clearly that this was all wrong, perhaps from the first day, even. 

Finstock – discreetly, for him—takes back the papers and stalks from the ceremony. Stiles thinks that he can see him setting fire to them outside in a mini fit of celebration.

Danny looks mildly frustrated, like someone in the store just told him that he couldn’t buy his favourite brand of cereal, not that he won’t be marrying his boyfriend.

“You don’t want this,” Stiles continues, voice low and sincere so that only he can hear it, and none of the curious guests right in front of them.

 “Let’s just get out there and get this over and done with.” Danny sighs and looks like he’s resigning himself to a life that he doesn’t really want.

“Danny, you don’t want to marry me. See the truth is, I gave my heart away a long time ago. And I never really got it back. I don’t know what else to say, I’m sorry,” says Stiles.   

“And you shouldn’t want to marry me.” Stiles is sure in this and he doesn’t think Danny does want to marry him, not really. He hasn’t looked right since New York.

“You’re just gonna let him humiliate you like that?” Mama Mahealani springs into action, basically spitting with apoplectic rage.

“Yeah I think I am. Excuse me.” Danny touches his arm and makes a break for the door. It looks like the weight of the world has been taken off his shoulders.

“You…in my entire life I have never met someone so manipulative, so deceitful…and I work with _criminals_!” Mrs Mahealani goes from 0 to furious in no time at all.

“Look, it wasn’t going to work out. I’m sorry that you’ve spent all this money but I’ll pay you back. I’ll go tell everyone now.” Stiles’ stomach settles from the knots it’s been tying itself in for the last few weeks, as he walks towards the front of the courtyard.  

“YOU… _red neck_ _son of a bitch,”_ her voice reaches to the very corners of the plantation’s courtyard. Stiles grits his teeth in irritation but carries on.

Every guest’s head whirls round to see Mrs Mahealani dig her nails into the scruff of Stiles’s neck, which he jerks away from. He stumbles away from the nails and halfway to the alter with an enraged Mrs Mahealani on his tail.

Today is officially weird.

“Here we go,” mutters Lydia into her champagne, but it's not like she's not loving every minute of Stiles' soap opera life.

Allison can hardly watch at all, her face buried in Scott’s arm and Erica starts swelling with rage. No one notices the Hales’ identical jaws tightening with anger. Talia has to forcibly hold Cora back.

“I will not _let_ my son get dumped at the alter by some psycho daisy may,” she shrieks, and yeah, Mrs Mahealani’s shoves sure are stronger than Scott’s.  

“Don’t do this,” Stiles suggests, as gently as he can while he’s getting his ass handed to him by a fifty-year-old Judge.

His neck and his shoulders can’t stop stinging but mostly, he doesn’t want one of his friends to go at Mrs Mahealani. He can see Erica working herself into a blonde ball of rage and Boyd’s barely talking her out of it.  

“Now, see here, you want to watch your tone,” snaps John Stilinski and Mrs Mahealani _laughs_ in his face.

Mr Mahealani looks like he wants to crawl into a corner and die, which, hey, Stiles can totally get on board with.

“Fuck off back to your double wide and fry something,” she curses at Stiles, combined with her harshest shove yet, which almost brings him down.

Laura launches forward and _bam_ , smacks Mrs Mahealani so hard in the face that she plummets like a dead bird falling out of the sky. She’s knocked out cold and Laura nurses her knuckles like a prize fighter, and God, Stiles has never been happier to have the Hales in his life.

“No one talks to my brother in-law like that!” she snarls and the courtyard is abruptly rich with the sound of southern whooping and cheering. The northern side seem a bit dumbstruck.

“Praise the lord the south has risen again,” cheers John, and that’s when the grey sky decides to _open_ and pour out sheets of icy rain.

The Northerners wait for absolutely nothing and scatter, some kind couple dragging Mama Mahealani with them. Mr Mahealani looks like he’s planning on never leaving home again.

Stiles’s stomach settles when he looks over his friends and his family – the Hales and his dad—and he knows what he needs to do next.

“Hey y’all if you’re friends of this groom stick around—I’m gonna go find me a Derek!” Stiles shouts and pumps a fist in the air.

The cheering becomes a _roar_ and he sprints out the wedding with the sound ringing in his ears.

                                                          *

“What did I miss?” asks Jackson, a couple minutes later with two glasses of champagne. Lydia hums and considers keeping him around, just for his abs, of course.

 

                                                          **18 AND 20**

_“You are such a pain in the ass,” Derek shouted from the porch. He could hear Stiles rattling around on the room but by the way the porch was shaped, (which he’d already pointed out was an issue, of course) he couldn’t see shit._

_“You weren’t complaining about_ that _last night,” Stiles yelled back, gleeful, and Derek ignored how his chest filled with fondness._

_No, Derek had been very vocal in his not complaining. He’d arched back into every touch and cried out without really meaning to. Stiles had been smug and pleased about it all evening, like he hadn’t also moaned like the world was ending around him. Sex in their new house happened to be the most amazing thing in the world._

_“Shut up,” Derek said, just for form’s sake, really._

_Stiles’ grinning face appeared in front of Derek, upside down, and he had seconds before Stiles came flailing down from the porch roof. Derek caught him of course, because that was his job to._

_“SHIIIT,” Stiles squawked. His breath_ whooshed _out of him in relief as he made contact with Derek’s arms._

_“You’re an idiot,” said Derek. He hated that he didn’t mean it really._

_“I just wanted to Spiderman,” his 18-year-old fiancé pouted, and for the billionth time Derek had a private moment over his lips._

_“That’s not a verb,” said Derek. “Any buggers up there?”_

_“Other than the one holding me? Naw,” Stiles grinned that shit eating smile up at him and Derek dumped him on his ass. Stiles’ laugh was raucous and infectious._

_“That hurt,” yelled Stiles after Derek’s back as it headed back in the house._

_He could feel rather than see the resultant Hale eye roll._

_Stiles and Derek had been looking forward to the wedding for months, now, not that they would admit that to anyone (not even each other) over the fear of being mocked mercilessly. Scott and Mama Hale have been in charge of the rings, Isaac got the suits sorted out for everyone, his dad used his connections at the Registry office to get them a bigger slot and Erica had overseen everything with the forceful and fearsome Reyes Eye. Boyd made sure that Stiles and Derek were happy with the stuff being picked for them._

_Stiles and Derek just had to stay in love, Erica told them fiercely, months ago. Stiles had laughed it off but really, loving Derek Hale was the easiest thing in his life. Derek was so easy to love, not that anyone else was to know that._

_“Are you getting ready?” called Stiles. He didn’t wait for an answer and went on a Hale hunt._

_The living room still had the yellow walls of the previous owner thought were ‘sunny’ and ‘appealing’ to buyers. Derek and Stiles swapped judgmental eyebrows as they walked in, but the tawny wood paneling, huge windows and lake out-front had sold them immediately._

_Derek preened when Erica told them that the house looked perfect with their stuff in it, their battered photo frames, old potted plants and knitted quilts covering up the holes in their second hand couches. Coming home after work to Derek and their home for the last couple weeks had felt like the most wonderful feeling in the world, and but Stiles fully expected their wedding to top the bliss scale._

_Derek was (too casually for the nerd, Stiles realised later) pulling off his clothes and letting them thump to the floor in their peachy bedroom._

_“Oh my God I’m in Derek Hale’s room,” breathed out Stiles. Derek rolled his eyes with that fond grin on his face that Stiles was proud to say he reserved purely for him._

_Derek put on his suit slowly, a piece at a time, letting the material drag up his skin until Stiles snapped. Pulled every piece off him hurriedly – he was very careful not to rip anything, though—and fucked him (lovingly) up the wall until the photo frames rattled._

_And that was how they ended up being late for their own wedding._

_Erica gave them the stink eye when they rocked up eventually, covered in stubble burn and smelled like sex._

_The ceremony was simple, with only their respective families in the room. Scott was Stiles’ best man and Boyd was Derek’s. Laura, to everyone’s immense amusement, burst into tears mid ceremony and had to go find some tissues._

_Stiles got all choked up and Derek had to swallow back tears to be able to say his part. He cracked up when Stiles said, “I take Derek James Hale”, and fucking winked straight after in front of everyone Derek cared about. Erica made a vomiting sound._

_“I do,” Derek said, simply. Stiles knew how he felt, he murmured it into his skin every opportunity that he got, and left him notes before he went to work in the morning. Stiles bought Derek flowers for his art, nagged him to wear his glasses all the time and made his mom’s chilli every Tuesday._

_Stiles grinned at him._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Believe it or not, I've witnessed a pretty similar wedding to this. Take my advice, never try and change what the bride wants last minute (especially seating arrangements). 
> 
> Thank you for reading :) all your lovely comments are so wonderful to read so thank you to anyone that takes the time out to write one xxxxxxx


	14. Made it into Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do you want me to leave you alone?” asks Stiles, when the too-long silence makes his skin crawl. His stomach is killing him with the nerves.   
> “Yes,” Derek grits out like it hurts to say the words.   
> “I’ll be at my dad’s. I’ll be around as and when you want me to be. If that’s—if that’s what you want me to do?” Stiles starts off all sure and determined, but Derek’s wide open emotional look just cuts him to the core, man.  
>  He wants to get that look fluffy sweaters with thumb holes and chicken soup, like all the time. He wants to wrap it in a blanket. What is Stiles’ life coming to, for serious.

Stiles knows that there’s only one place that Derek would go to, if he’s feeling how Stiles _hopes_ he’s feeling (he is aware that he is an awful person, thank you very much).

The beach round by the back of the Hale property is beautiful at the best of times, but tonight, with the rain hammering shapes into the sand, the moon strung high up in the sky and the silvery crashing waves, it’s something else.

It does help that the most beautiful man on the planet is standing on it, too.

Derek’s got his back to the property line and has his paintbrush to the canvas, eyes focused out to the ocean. His paints in their individualised pots seem more textured than they should be and sure enough, he seems to be using the sand and colours pigments to make them. The canvas has a series of bright colours dotted at the top of it, and the rain creates streaks of colour.

 Stiles refuses to find it precious that he paints using the sand from the beach where they had their first kiss. _Refuses._

“Stiles? What are you doing here?” In the time that he’d spent pondering Derek’s art, he realises that the man in question has realised his presence.

“I-” Stiles swallows his tongue.

“Aren’t you supposed to be getting married?” Derek looks concerned that Stiles has had some kind of brain trauma and has stumbled to their beach in a fugue state.

“I called it off,” Stiles says, and there’s no way to say that without that some onslaught of guilt. Derek’s face is that standard, _no comment, no emotion_ one, and it makes his stomach churn with nerves because he has no idea what the love of his freaking life is feeling, currently.

“I want to be with you,” Stiles tells him, and the shocked look on Derek’s face makes him worry and blurt out far more than he would normally be comfortable with. “I want to wake up with you and argue over ice cream and make so _many_ t-shirts for your gallery and wear them everywhere. I want to make you happy. I _know_ I can make you happy.”

“Stiles, I- don’t know,” Derek’s voice is guttural with something akin to emotion, he thinks.

“I’ve made so many mistakes. Starting with walking out,” Stiles continues, and tries to convince himself that he imagined Derek’s hesitation and fear just then. “I’ll make it up to you. I _promise._ ”

As for talks, it’s pretty self-revelatory and Stiles feels like he might as well be naked standing in front of Derek. Allison, the perpetual romantic with her goddamn heart tattooed on her sleeve, would be very proud. 

“I can’t do this,” Derek says finally, and there’s no trace of doubt in his magic oceanic eyes.

It’s like that time that Isaac poured water with ice cubes over him the only February in high school that it snowed. His stomach plummets towards the floor and he can’t help but desperately wish to escape. Somewhere with a huge drop would be great, right about now. The coolness of the sea breeze seems to hit him all of a sudden, like a ton of bricks to his head.

“I want to, you don’t get,” Derek visibly struggles with his words, which is new, because Stiles’ Derek rarely struggled with what he wanted to say. He always knew exactly how to get to Stiles. “How much I want _yo_ – to, but I can’t. I can’t do this.”

“I thought you wanted to be with me, too.” He hates how small and pathetic his voice has gotten. _I thought this wasn’t just me feeling like this. I thought it wasn’t only me dreaming about you._

“I did. I do.” Derek’s gone flushed with frustration and it’s infuriating how good it looks on him.

“Then, what is it?” _he’s not in love with me anymore_ , realises Stiles, with the sensation that he’s been shoved off his feet.

“What if you leave again?” Derek’s voice cracks in the middle of his words.

“I won’t,” it’s hard to promise with everything you are, but God, Stiles will try.

Derek’s laugh is unbearably awful. “How can I believe that? You left when all I needed was for you to stay.”

“You don’t trust me, do you?”

Derek pauses and gives him a very serious look.

“I trust that you’re sorry,”

“But you don’t trust that I won’t leave you again?”

“No.” Derek’s voice is hard and clipped on the word.

“I’m sorry _.”_ Stiles kicks out at the sand and tries not to cry, because that won’t help anything. Derek either wants to be with him or he won’t and crying won’t lead to anything, other than more humiliation.

“Do you want me to leave you alone?” asks Stiles, when the too-long silence makes his skin crawl. His stomach is killing him with the nerves.

“ _Yes,_ ” Derek grits out like it hurts to say the words.  

“I’ll be at my dad’s. I’ll be around as and when you want me to be. If that’s—if that’s what you want me to do?” Stiles starts off all sure and determined, but Derek’s wide open emotional look just cuts him to the core, man.

 He wants to get that look fluffy sweaters with thumb holes and chicken soup, like all the time. He wants to wrap it in a blanket. What is Stiles’ life coming to, _for serious._

“I- okay.” Derek looks like discovering that Stiles still loves him is brand new information.

“Call me. If you want.”

Stiles’ open hand reaches for Derek’s, like some reflexive muscle memory, but he pulls it away before he says anything else totally humiliating.  

 

Stiles doesn’t go home and pine, refuses to on principle, because Derek is perfectly reasonable to feel the way he does and he respects his wishes.

He does however, send a text to the group chat that some genius set up—he suspects Scott—and explains that nothing’s going to happen between him and Derek, no one is to harass him about it (his friends, seriously) and he’ll speak to them all in the morning. He expects to wake up to a variety of sad emoji _._

He puts on his comfy sweats, claims the leftover pizza from the fridge and goes to bed. His suit hangs in the corner like some kind of sign, saying _you suck._

He’s inclined to agree with the suit.

He drifts off to sleep without intending to. He wakes up too early to the sensation that the dust is settling below his feet, and that he’s slowly entering a new period in his life; a Stiles totally without Derek existence. It brings back that ache from New York.

His dad leaves him Lucky Charms cereal out on the side like he’s seven years old all over again and he’s not even mad, because he loves that stuff.

Stiles catches up on the news. He’s surprised and pleased to note that Danny did a very exclusive online interview with _Vanity Fair_ and said that mutually, they broke up. There’s no mention of Stiles’ marital status or Alabama, for that matter. Or Mrs Mahealani’s broken nose and ego. He idly wonders if Laura’s gonna get sued.

He settles back in bed and contemplates what he’s going to do for the rest of his life. Still not pining.  

A couple hours of sulking later, Stiles hears his very subtle friends break into the house downstairs and stamp to his room in a determined set of heels.

“Good morning, Debbie Downer,” Lydia calls and whips back the curtains like the cruel woman she actually is. Allison’s just as bad; she yanks the cushions out from under his head. Mercifully, he has the quilt for the mean time.

“ _What_?” Stiles knows he sounds like a stroppy teenager, but hey. It’s early, he’s miserable and it is physically unfair that his friends look so put together this early.

“Explain this,” Lydia shoves her phone in his face and it displays the group chat message. He did guess right, there are a lot of sad emoji up in there.

“It’s self-explanatory,” Stiles snarks and Lydia pinches his cheek in a weak attempt at retaliation.

“Saying ‘ _it’s not going to work out, leave Derek alone guys, night_ ,’ says nothing,” Allison adds.

“Exactly,” Lydia nods like this was her point all along. “What did you say to him?”

“I just…put everything out there and he can’t go down that road with me again,” Stiles says, blinking the exhaustion out of his eyes. He feels like he’s hardly slept at all.

“What?” Lydia snaps. She looks angrier than that time one of the Board members spilled coffee on her Chloé purse, and Stiles had heard her yelling from several floors below.

Stiles has given Derek no reason to trust him; heck, he even kissed him back while he was in a relationship with someone else. He’ll earn Derek’s trust back somehow, but he’s going to give him as much space as he wants and needs.

“No,” Lydia tells him when he attempts to vocalise the thought.

“Lyds, I’m not gonna shove myself on him. I’ll leave it alone.”

“I’m sure you don’t really mean that,” Allison says, punctuated by a gentle hand on his shoulder. He must look pathetic, for sure, because normally she would roll her eyes and poke affectionately.

“I just made such a fool out of myself in front of everyone,” says Stiles, a bitter laugh thrown in for good measure. It’s great that America at large don’t know about the ins and outs of the wedding—yet—but he’s still got to face the Hales and everyone else, when he’s an A+ douche.

“I got laid out of it,” shrugs Lydia. Allison gapes at her.

“You did not mention that in the car ride earlier?” Allison is definitely a shade too close to squawking in his neighbourhood.

“I wanted to remind Stiles of how pathetic his love life is,” smirks Lydia. “We’re taking you out for lunch.”

“In front of everyone in town? Nope, count me out,” Stiles doesn’t even try for calm and collected. He goes straight to ‘ _nah not me_ ’ with no regrets.

“Yeah Lydia that might be a bad idea,” Allison starts gnawing on her lip like she does whenever she’s nervous. Scott gets heart eyes whenever she does it.  

“See, Lydia, _Ally_ agrees with _me_ ,” Stiles preens. Lydia narrows her eyes like she’s confronting a sales assistant without her size in the back of the store.

 “We are not waiting for you to grow out of your _baby_ phase. Put on some proper pants and we’ll meet you by the car.” Lydia clicks her fingers at him and by some cruel twist of fate, Allison pulls back the covers like ripping a band aid off.

Lydia lets him in the car wearing a (different and clean) pair of sweats, though, which is her way of telling him she feels sorry for him, deep down.  

Allison has the decency to wait until he gets strapped in the car before they both continue the questioning. He doesn’t know why he expected any different from them; they have matching curiosity killed the cat tattoos, after all.

“What did you get up to last night?” Allison asks, with a nonchalant twitch of her shiny curls. She is far from subtle, really, just like Scott. God, do they make the perfect pair.

“I said sorry to Derek and asked him to take me back. He said no.” Stiles tries for simple and it does work; he doesn’t feel like his chest is being ripped open, which is a small bonus.

“He’s got a plan, of course,” scoffs Lydia, dismissing him with a flick of her neat nails.

“I don’t,” shrugs Stiles, because he doesn’t. He’s not going to force Derek into loving him again, he’s going to let things settle down and _then_ he’ll see if Derek wants him.

“Do not say c’est la vie,” demands Lydia immediately. “But don’t you want to…”

“He doesn’t want me Lyds,” Stiles admits finally.

 It’s the dark truth that no one has dared to say, mostly in respect of Stiles’ own insecurities, but it’s true. He bust Derek’s heart wide open and why would someone want to go back to that? His friends are looking at him with an open sort of pity and he realises he probably vocalised that last thought.

“Let’s change the subject,” Allison decides, with a pat to his shoulder before she _whirls_ on Lydia. “Who in the name of heck did you sleep with?”

Stiles gets to choose Weston’s for lunch, because there’s a Chinese part to the menu that Lydia gets excited for and Allison still raves about her burger from the other day. Stiles gets the double burger with a side of biscuits and decidedly does not imagine Derek rolling his eyes at the cholesterol count in his food.

Stiles lets the chatter wash over him and it makes him feel ever so slightly homesick for New York.

“My mom goes, I’ll do the gazebo _and_ the wine cellar. It’s not a freaking vineyard, mother, I said, and she got so emotional. It took all of me to not just say _pull yourself together._ ” Lydia speaks through her noodles.

“But why a wine cellar? She doesn’t even like wine,” Ally points out. “I thought she stopped drinking after that _thing_ in Cabo—”

“Well, so did I,” mutters Lydia. “So did I.”

“You can always store your vodka in the cellar,” suggests Stiles. Lydia doesn’t even attempt to hide her eye-roll and it makes him question his IQ but hey, he’s missed it.

“Vodka goes in the freezer, idiot,” snaps Lydia, but there’s no heat behind it. This is New York standard.

 

Derek doesn’t sleep, again. Everything in his mind plays like a forgotten reel on a cinema screen when he tries to drift off to sleep. He closes his eyes and _bam_ , there’s Stiles soaked to the skin in a suit on the beach, looking like his world is crashing around his ears for all intents and purposes.

He crashes on the couch at around eight a.m., finally, and it feels like seconds later that his doorbell nudges him awake.

His sisters stand on the porch and it’s so bright outside it takes Derek a full minute to register that they are also wearing jammies, and have donuts.

“Oh, honey,” Cora sounds sympathetic and that’s how Derek knows they _know_ everything.

“How did you know?” it’s the last thing he wants, everyone gossiping about his life and his stomach starts _churning_ away.

He can’t get Stiles’ pale, horrified look out of his head, oh God.

“We were at the wedding, dumb ass,” Cora reminds him bluntly.

“We went past Stiles, Lydia and Allison getting lunch at Weston’s, like two minutes ago. Stiles looked like he’d seen a ghost and he was in sweats, Der, _sweats,_ like he’d never left them. That was not the face of a man reunited with his significant annoyance.”

“Laura,” sighs Derek, and god, he sounds as pathetic as he feels.

“What? So anyway, we bought you _Dunkin’,_ we rushed over and so here we are,” Laura continues, oblivious of Derek’s face. Cora elbows her sister.

“You’re welcome,” says Cora. “Where should we set up the donuts?”

“I’m not sharing them,” mumbles Derek, but lets them through anyway.

Derek wonders if this is the true definition of Pity Party.

They are later joined by Boyd, Isaac and Erica, who bring with them copious amounts of Chinese food and chocolate milk. They watch _Friends_ reruns, with Cora and Isaac quoting each line loudly in a weak attempt at gross, flirtatious competition.

Laura and Erica get into a rap battle at 1am, and Derek is thankful he has no neighbours. He was grateful of that when he had Stiles living there, too.

Every single one of them is dead asleep in Derek’s living room by 2am, the bunch of losers. The Reyes and Isaac and Cora end up spooning on the two different sofas in the living room. Laura claims the Sheriff’s favourite armchair for her own in a curled pile. They leave Derek to watch the end of _Beaches_ by himself, which is always a mistake.  

 He puts himself to bed eventually. After staring at the ceiling for too long, he decides to go for more chocolate milk and catches Laura on the phone to Matthew, most likely tied up in a baby related feeding discussion. She smiles at him and mouths, _Sorry_ , but she looks so sleep ruffled and fond that he can only feel envious. He pours her a glass of chocolate milk and heads back to bed.  

Derek isn’t sure how, but that sense of empty hollowness doesn’t seem to be going anywhere.

 

Stiles spends the next following days with Lydia, Allison and Scott in varying amounts. They stop spoiling him and just navigate around his emotions, with some eye-rolling and defensive arms-around-the-shoulders from Scott. They go to the movies, ice skating and a mall two towns over, though he’s not sure whether that’s for Scott or Lydia’s benefit. He’s decided that he is (really) _[fine](https://media.giphy.com/media/kry8K2CEGrIt2/giphy.gif)._

That doesn’t stop it being heart-wrenching when Derek turns up on his porch on a Tuesday morning, at some horrendously time like 7.30.am.

“Hello,” Derek looks equal parts irritated and nervous.

Stiles is flustered and in his boxers; it’s not an unfamiliar scene to several memories he treasures, privately. Before, Derek would definitely have grinned at him though, which is a depressing thought.  

“What’re you doing here?” He tries for surprised and careless, not like he’d been hoping for this moment for days. He’s not sure if he pulls it off.  

“I thought we could go out to the beach or…don’t worry. It’s a stupid idea.” Derek mumbles and turns away from the door, scraping an awkward hand through his hair. Perhaps Stiles did aloof too well.

“I’ll just grab my coat don’t go anywhere,” Stiles scrambles back from the doorway and halfway upstairs before he trips over his own feet. He doesn’t even register letting out a maniacal, too hysterical laugh, but that’s the snort that he makes.

“I thought that was my line,” calls Derek. He has to forcibly remind himself that he cannot find Stiles endearing. He’s failing badly at that, as usual; Stiles Stilinski is the one weakness he wishes he’d never had.

“You’re being very sensible about it,” the Sheriff pops his head round the corner from the kitchen. Derek tries not to gasp like a little old lady.

“Thanks?” he tries. He’s not sure whether it’s good or not to be sensible over Stiles. He feels like he’s breaking every promise and rule he’d given himself over the last couple days.

“Love isn’t supposed to be thought out and sensible and cautious. You throw it to the wind. If you feel it.” His eyes are twinkling and Derek gets the feeling that he’ll be laughing over this with Laura at lunch time.

“Noted?”

“Good good, that’s all _I’m_ saying,” the Sheriff shrugs like he’s just throwing out errant words and not giving him life advice, like usual.

Stiles skids onto the kitchen floor like bambi just learning to use his limbs. Derek can’t help the fond smile that spreads across his face.

“What’d I miss?” Stiles pants, hair up every which way.

**17 AND 19**

_The hotel room was a genius idea, if you asked Stiles. Privacy, no doors always open rules, no nosy Hale Uncles could pop their heads in and ask if anyone wanted a condom – the silence was like heaven._

_Derek blamed the relief on the fact that Stiles had barely time to shut the door before Derek got naked. Stiles’ breathy, “oh, I do declare”, was not really appreciated by anyone present._  

_“Derek, how do you want to do this?” panted Stiles, kissing his way up Derek’s neck. Derek’s half bitten out groan when Stiles’ lips dragged over the skin on his neck was fucking hot._

_“You know,” snapped Derek, who looked by all accounts, flushed and bothered. It had everything to do with Stiles’s hands teasing at his ass, of course, and the bastard knew_ exactly _what he was doing. He made Derek’s legs tremble, the loser._

_“Magic words?”_

_“You’re such an asshole,” Derek ground out, not really joking._

_“I’m a what?”_

_Derek keened out wordlessly in pleasure and Stiles really wanted to high five himself. All those hours spent messing about in the back of Derek’s truck, his bed ruffled sheets and the beach totally paid off; he knew Derek’s magic points, which was the most incredible feeling in the universe._

_“Fuck, your ass is just.” Stiles let out a wordless moan of pleasure._

_“Be gentle,” murmured Derek and would forever deny that he saw stars._

_“I’d worship you and your ass if I could,” Stiles promised._

_“Yeah?” Derek looked smug._

_“Yeah,” Stiles smiled all wide and fond and helplessly in love with the little worried sliver of overbite he could see._

_When he finally got moving inside Derek, it was the best thing that’d ever happened to him. He told Derek as such._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Hope if anyone's reading this they're enjoying it. xxxxxxxxxx


	15. Hopeless Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “They have no game,” Isaac confirms, peering through the binoculars.
> 
> “We could be here forever,” Allison agrees. 
> 
> “You can’t win them all,” Erica shrugs. “Who decided Lahey gets the binos?”
> 
> “Lahey did ‘cause Lahey brought them,” Isaac scowls.

Talia Hale gets the call out to Derek and Stiles’ friends that they are on the beach, hardly expecting any kind of response. She calls John Stilinski and he orders her to keep him in the loop, if anything happens. She doesn't expect anything to happen, really, but gets the shock of Derek and Stiles' friends turning up on her doorstep, as pleased as punch. 

They bring soda and pillows into her house to congregate in her attic guest bedroom, with the big window and beautiful, crystal _clear_ view of the beach’s sand dunes. Aaron flees the millennials and disappears into his gardening shed with a very Derek roll of the eyes. Laura keeps muttering under her breath and Cora’s jaw is twitching from stress. The others, Boyd, Isaac, Allison and Lydia seem invested. Lydia cannot stop chewing her nails out of concern; later, she bills Stiles $200 for the manicure, because it's all his fault.

Isaac is the first to make sounds about calling for a pizza if they’re going to be holed up for long. Cora throws a cushion in his face.

 *

“Did you miss this place?” asks Derek abruptly. His voice gives away no hint or sign of emotion, but he can hardly bear to look at Stiles.

“All the time,” Stiles replies, his eyes on Derek like always.

Derek’s mouth twitches in a half pleased smirk before he attempts to cover it up. Stiles hand reaches out and touches the corner of his mouth before he can even fully recognise what he’s doing.

Derek makes this tiny sound of relief and his eyes find Stiles in the cool morning light. His eyes look silvery blue and it’s abruptly very difficult to get a deep breath.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles says and he feels tingly all over at Derek’s smile.

“Don’t ruin it,” Derek suggests.

 *

“What’d I miss, what’d I miss,” shrieks Erica, slamming through the door, hardly missing Cora by an inch.

“Nothing baby,” Boyd calls back, grinning at the frantic doctor. “What kept you?”

“Barry Farber inhaled his retainer in his sleep again,” Erica glowers at the memory and shudders. “I swear, that kid, his mom needs to teach him to control himself.”

“Bit you again?” asks Cora. Erica makes a grumpy sound and tucks herself under Boyd’s proffered arm.

“I’m surprised you let him live,” Lydia says.

Erica shrugs like it’s no big deal, rather than being one hundred per cent obsessed with her job and her patients (even the biting ones).

“Are we still waiting?” Talia bustles in the room with glasses of iced tea.

“They have no game,” Isaac confirms, peering through the binoculars.

“We could be here forever,” Allison agrees. Her phone pings and she abruptly beams at them all. “Scott’s on his way. He will definitely not want us doing this.”

“You can’t win them all,” Erica shrugs. “Who decided Lahey gets the binos?”

“ _Lahey_ did ‘cause _Lahey_ brought them,” Isaac scowls. “They’re mine, Reyes.”

“We’ll see about that,” Lydia bares her teeth at him in some attempt at a smile.

 Isaac visibly slinks back against Cora’s shoulder.

 *

“What do you want me to say?” Stiles asks, half-laughing. It feels like whatever he says he _somehow_ manages to put his foot in his mouth. He’s complimented Derek’s shirt twice before realising it is an old, baggy one of his own and it is strangely weird to compliment your own clothes. Lydia gets away with it all the time. 

“I don’t know,” sighs Derek. He’s far more indecisive nowadays, than he used to be when he was a teenager. Stiles feels a kind of fear that it is his fault that Derek is now uncertain, so he tells Derek that he’s awesome and gets the raised eyebrows in response.

“How about I want this to work,” Stiles tries, and doesn’t get the Derek Hale Eyebrows of Doom™, so continues on. “If you let me, so help me God, I will take care of you always, I’ll go to every _Deep South_ event and waiter, and I will love you.”

Derek wrinkles his nose in pleased embarrassment at the word love.

“I will _cherish_ you and you'll love every second of it, promise,” Stiles tells Derek, with a surprising amount of certainty.

Derek can’t hold it back any longer. He smiles.

 *

“Okay, they’re _leaning_ ,” Erica sounds excited. She’d beat out Lydia and Laura for the binoculars over a ferocious game of rock paper scissors. She’s pressed up close to the top attic room in the Hale house, with the best view of the beach and its visitors.

“That’s just how they talk,” Boyd points out, but no one has time for his practical reasoning. They’re all too busy clasping their hands like they’re at freaking church; it’s shameful, really.

“And?” Talia asks Erica, like she’s holding her breath. They all are, really. This moment is it, years in the making and everything’s resting on the pair of them to pull it together.  

“Have they always been like this?” Allison asks Boyd. Derek’s mom rolls her eyes, _hard,_ like the boys are so embarrassing to even discuss _._

“They were ridiculous,” Scott replies. “They’d fight over everything, make out in like, the weirdest places and discuss deep shit at like 4am _everyday_.”

“Oh yeah?” Lydia looks like something warm and fuzzy is currently running through her chest right now, and she’s not quite sure how to handle it.

“They are quite the pair,” Talia says, something wistful in her voice.

 *

“You loved me before, when you left,” Derek points out. His eyes are stormy as they watch Stiles flounder. Stiles thinks he can see some flicker of enjoyment in them; Derek did always enjoy watching Stiles flounder for an answer to one of his difficult question. 

“I did,” he agrees. “I didn’t leave because I stopped loving you. I left because I thought I was ruining your life and that scared the shit outta me, ‘cause I always thought I was good for you.”

“You are,” Derek tells him quietly, watching that pleased grin just light up his whole damn face.

“I’m not leaving again,” Stiles states, teeth gritted in that ever so familiar, Stilinski Pitbull impersonation.

Derek remembers a buzz cut ten-year-old pushing over one of Scott’s few bullies on the playground because he said something mean about his dad.  The expression hasn’t changed.

 *

“I ordered three large pizzas,” Cora calls over to the group. Talia makes a sound of distaste over the newspaper she’s reading, not like they know she’ll be the one to devour at least eight slices in one sitting. Thirteen double pepperoni is her personal best.  

“Three?” Lydia raises an eyebrow. “How much do you people eat?”

“Like you Yanks don’t eat,” Erica scoffs. Allison visibly bristles.

“We eat sensible portions when we want,” Allison corrects, with an eye-roll. “Besides, it’s not like your pizza slices are doorstep sized.”

“I dunno babe, the pizza’s pretty insane,” Scott scratches the back of his head bashfully.

“Yeah but Kesté's pizza is better _,_ right Lydia?” Allison’s curls practically smack her best friend in the face and Lydia doesn’t even flinch, her eyes are so glued to her phone.

“This is why she didn’t deserve the binos,” Laura mutters to Erica who gives a [Nick Miller-esque](https://www.google.co.uk/search?q=nick+miller+face+gif&espv=2&biw=1707&bih=797&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwikkcnvoKrSAhWLA8AKHU1YAq0Q_AUIBigB#tbm=isch&q=nick+miller+turtle+face+gif&*&imgrc=NzxnhQBWR58WcM:) face in agreement.

Lydia’s cheeks are flushed when she looks back at the room. “What?”

 *

Lydia’s phone rings a little after 10am, like _clockwork,_ and she escapes before anyone notices who’s on the other end of the call.

“Hello?” She asks, trying for careless and most likely failing miserably.

“How are you?” Jackson sounds really good and like he is genuinely (like always) happy to hear Lydia’s voice. God, before Jackson it'd been so long since she had a boy call her when he was supposed to; she usually gets in, gets off and goes. Crude, but it’s effective.

Jackson, by contrast, is kind to her and awful to everyone else. It’s really fucking hot, as it turns out. His face is an open book when it comes to her and she can read every miniscule thought on it, which makes him five hundred per cent trustworthy in her mind.

He’s still a jackass, of course. He bitches about Stiles and Alabama regularly, which she does reprimand. He’d used the line, _‘Trust me I’ve got a trust fund,’_ on her already and goddammit if she didn’t find it endearing. He doesn’t make it a big deal that her IQ is as high as it is, which is new; guys either want to put her on a pedestal when they find out, or they are freaked out by it. Jackson just accepts it. Uses her like a human Google, really, which is a challenge and new. She craves it.

Worst of all, she can’t stop smiling about him and they have barely started yet. She refuses to be a teenage girl that loses her mind over a boy, but she can imagine doing that with Jackson; in fact, she wants to.

“You still alive in there?” Jackson says and she laughs.

“Sorry, I was just thinking,” she replies, and has to force back a sigh.

“About how good that night turned out?” Jackson sounds smug for all of two seconds before he laughs. It’s the seventh time he’s reminded her that they had sex, like she could forget.

She came four times and it was magical and sweet, all the things she didn’t want from Jackson. She hasn’t stopped thinking about it since and he knows, the bastard.

“Yes, of course that’s it,” Lydia rolls her eyes and hopes he can hear it through the phone.

“I knew it,” Jackson drawls. “When am I going to see you again?”

“I don’t know,” Lydia says honestly, because she needs to leave Beacon Hills with Stiles and Allison, really. They’ve all taken far too much time off as it is and she has a business to maintain.   

“Well, make sure when you know, I know.”

“Maybe,” she says, trying for coy. “And what do I get if I do?”

 It’s the closest she’ll ever get to asking _what are we,_ which she refuses to do on principle. She is not dying to hear his answer, but merely curious.

“Why don’t I let you know when I see you,” Jackson says. She can hear the pleased smirk in his voice through the phone.

She grits her teeth and bids him goodbye. She hates not knowing the future.

 

“Like Lydia and ripped jeans,” Allison says as Lydia slips back into the room, clearly mid conversation.

“I don’t understand _why_ they need to look like they’re old before you’ve even worn them,” Lydia explains. “The holes are just going to get worse. And then you’ll look trashy.”

“What a travesty,” Erica smirks. Lydia narrows her eyes.

 There seems to be an ongoing assessment of whether a friendship could be struck.

“What did you do for Stiles’ 24th birthday?” Erica suddenly demands. Lydia looks startled and a little annoyed, but Allison smiles all soft.

“We hired out part of Six Flags for him,” Allison says. “Lydia made cake and we got pizza after.”

Erica looks like she chokes up a little. Scott swallows raggedly. It only occurs to Allison that perhaps, these people feel like they missed out on Stiles’ life just like she sometimes feels left out when they talk about that wealth of history they all share.

“And the 22nd? And 23rd?” Scott asks, hardly hiding his eagerness.

“We went to a strip club for his 23rd,” Allison grins. “He puked on the stage. It was awful.”

“The 22nd we hired out a singing team of Leprechauns to follow him round the office,” Lydia smirks. “The cafeteria ladies still have the photos on the wall.”

“I’ll send them to you when I get back,” Allison smiles at Scott. Somehow, his face falls and he turns away from them all.

She feels a sudden stab of guilt – it’s awful that she’s just met Scott and she’s already asking him to be her long distance boyfriend, but that’s what she wants. Her heart races with a sudden jolt of panic that maybe that’s not what he wants.

“Scott, can I talk to you?” Allison asks, but her voice is quite high pitched. He drags his feet away from the attic room.

 

“Come back to New York with me,” Allison offers once they're in the Hale's warm, cream hallway. It seems like such an ordinary place for such a huge emotional revelation.She gets the urge to continue with, _‘think of what we could do, together’_ and has to repress it forcibly.

Scott beams at her but his forehead furrows.

“Allison, I can’t,” Scott says. “I’ve got a job and my mom and everyone’s here. I can’t just up and relocate.”

She does understand that, really, she does. It was a tall, selfish ask, but she couldn’t help herself. She can’t imagine leaving Beacon Hills and Scott behind now. How is she expected to go back to New York knowing that the guy she is supposed to be with is left here, without her?

“I love you,” Allison says and it’s not that she thinks he will come with her if she says it, but more that if she has to leave him here, he has to know how she feels. It’s the most serious thing she’s ever felt, outside of the deep affection for Lydia and Stiles.

Scott beams like she’s just told him that he’s won the lottery and he’s murmuring, _I love you too_ , against her cheeks and her hair, from where he’s kissing any part of her that he can reach. The peach shampoo and clean clinical smell of him makes her feel giddy and warm. She has her person.

Okay she knows it’s pre-emptive and insane to know that the guy you’ve known for a few weeks is your soulmate, and she can’t explain it but she _knows_.

Heck, she’s even told her dad about Scott, and that’s terrifying in itself. He’s probably oiling up the guns and sharpening her arrowheads while she speaks and she finds herself almost looking forward to the meeting.

 “We’re going to be fine,” Scott says and kisses her, as if to get the thought into her head. Worries and anxieties swamp her and she has to tell herself to just not think about it. It will work out if it’s meant to, and it is meant to work out.

 

“Done making out?” Lydia snarks as they walk back in the room.

The scene is much the same since before they left, plus several giant gooey pizzas; Erica is pressed up against the window like a mad woman, eating and the others sit around, muttering to each other.

“Have _they_ started?” Allison asks, which she knows she’s being nosey, but she desperately wants Stiles to be happy like he becomes every time he sees Derek.

It’s striking, really, because she hadn’t realised day in day out how miserable Stiles was. He frowned a lot, muttered to himself and regularly badgered the interns, colleagues, anyone. He’s still an asshole down south, he’s just happy with it; Allison would even say that he _glows_ when he’s around Derek.

“No,” Erica grumbles. “And I think I’m getting a squint.”

“Then handover,” Laura complains. “I wanna go.”

“How old are you?” Cora sniffs, though she can’t really talk, because she’s refused to eat the crusts on her pizza because they’re ‘icky’.

 *

Ten minutes and twelve seconds of hard consideration later, and the moment happens. Derek leans in and quotes Tennyson under his breath, which makes Stiles go weak at the fucking knees, because Derek Hale + Poetry = Kryptonite. Stiles reels him in helplessly, and it is as simple as that. The spark catches flame and Derek has to get his hands on Stiles' face. They start kissing like no time has passed at all.

 *

“And we’ve got MAKING OUT!” Erica’s yell was met with mingled groans of pleased discomfort and spontaneous cheering. “Oh hell, I think they heard.”

 *

“Did you hear that?” Stiles asks, pulling back from Derek’s face for a second. Derek’s blissed out, his eyes closed and cheeks flushed in a beautiful shade of rosy pink.

“What?” Derek grouses and it’s adorable, alright, so sue him.

“Must’ve been the beach,” Stiles grins.

“Yeah sure,” Derek doesn’t even hesitate to pull Stiles close again. The kiss is heated and intimate and it feels like new air is being brought into Stiles’ body. It feels like he was in pain without really realising.

Derek’s hand gets snarled in his hair and Stiles can’t seem to stop his hands from cradling his softly bearded face. There’s a desperate edge to the kiss like neither of them are sure of when they’ll get to do this again.

 *

“This is actually pretty gross,” Erica decides after a couple beats. “ _Yeha_ , go Stilinski. _Bam Chika Wow Wow_. ”

"That’s my brother,” Scott looks like he wants to hurl.

Cora and Laura have covered their ears already. Talia looks vaguely disturbed and like she regrets ever inviting them over into her home.

“Pass the binos over,” Allison orders.

Erica pouts but hands them over, helped by a prod from Boyd. She collapses onto the sofa, on top of everyone sat on it, and demands pizza to be fed to her. Lydia wrinkles her nose and steals the last bit of margarita.

Isaac puts a piece of pizza on the back of Erica’s neck.

 *

“We can’t fall back into this,” Derek pulls away eventually, eyes hard again. Stiles has to bite back a noise of complaint but he knows, rationally deep down, he’s right.

 They can’t just kiss and make up; what happened between them runs a lot deeper than that, and feelings need to be reassured and confirmed.

“We’re not the same,” Stiles mutters, rather resentfully. After all, it’s his own fault he’s missed five years of Derek Hale’s goings on. God, what if he’s no longer obsessed with _Bravo_ , or if he’s developed new allergies?

There’s so much he needs to know.

Hell, Derek hardly knows Lydia or Allison; he already feels stressed at the thought of that friendship blooming. He thinks he would explode from Derek telling Lydia about the time he stole a garden gnome every week for seven months straight just for the heck of it or when he spray painted _BITCH_ on his high school Chem teacher’s car. There’s a world of embarrassment just one short friendship away.

Allison, he feels, Derek will silently bond with. They’re not quite cut from the same cloth, but they’re both super protective, kind (when they want to be) and equally vicious. He thinks Ally will never admit to it but will respect Derek more than anyone.

“Not entirely,” Derek thumbs at the mole on his cheek.

A brainwave strikes Stiles harder than Laura did to Mrs Mahealani.

It’s wondrous. It’s genius. He should win a medal for this idea, for real. 

“Date me,” Stiles asks, but it doesn’t sound like a question. “I’ll pay for food, I always have snacks, and I happen to love you. Like, a lot.”

Derek rolls his eyes.

“We never dated. And we’re married.”

“I took you to the movies, like loads of times,” Stiles protests. He can feel that he’s grinning hugely.

“You got me kicked out from the movies.”

“I want to relearn you and you need to relearn me,” Stiles says. “What better than awkward dates?”

“You want to court me,” Derek repeats, looking very confused.

“For the foreseeable future, yeah,” Stiles says. “Think of it like a probation period. If I do well and you want to keep me, you can. If not, you can return me to the store.”

“You mean a warranty, idiot,” Derek doesn’t seem to be able to stop smirking. Stiles thinks it’s a good sign but he’s not totally sure, see, this is why they need to date.

“I’ll take you to Akron’s drive in,” Stiles muses. “And that gallery with recyclable stuff in Sawyerville I read about in the paper the other day. Anywhere else you’d like to visit?”

“I – no,” Derek looks startled.

“I am going to woo you,” Stiles decides, grinning at the distaste in Derek’s face. “I am going to woo the _shit_ out of you.”

“This is serious, Stiles.”

“I’ve never felt more seriously about anything or anyone in my life.” Stiles tells him.

“I’m regretting it already,”

“Things to name our sex tape,” Stiles breathes.

“You wish you were a Peralta,” Derek sniffs.

“I knew you liked _Brooklyn 99_ ,” Stiles says. “Anything else?”

“That would be cheating,” Derek nudges him.

Their hands snake together and Stiles can feel Derek’s heart is beating just as hard as his.

 

They stay snuggled up on the beach for as long as they can get away with, before the water starts to creep slowly towards the shore.

Stiles finds that he is helpless not to memorise the shape of Derek, the broad span of his shoulders and his delicate, artist’s hands. The old, worn groove from his wedding ring is there and it makes something in his chest swoop with delight. The crinkles by his eyes when he smiles are so very new and he wants to kiss them every day because he has the opportunity to. 

It occurs to Stiles _eventually_ that work is a thing in New York that he has to go back to. Stiles starts to internally panic, because wages and years of hard work just gone like _that_ , and Derek definitely notices. He tightens up and his face falls, if only slightly, but Stiles knows an upset Derek Hale when he spots one.

“How do you feel about Skype dates?” Stiles jokes and Derek pulls away with a – for him, especially— unconsciously huffy Hale sound.

“That’s fine,” Derek says, but Stiles isn’t sure he can go back to work permanently with all this left behind. He barely did it the first time, it almost killed him, and to do it again would be impossible; it goes against the five-year plan, anyway.

“I’m not feeling great,” he decides, abruptly. Work can wait, work will always be there if he’s not away for like _years_ , and he’s put every inch of his soul into his job for too long. He needs a break. He’s not sure how he’s got to 24 and already feels like he’s close to a midlife crisis and needing an emergency holiday to Bora Bora. “I’m gonna call in my holiday hours to deal with this sickness bug I've got.”

Derek’s head twitches up at him, looking confused, until recognition dawns on his face. “I can’t ask you to do that.”

“Good thing you didn’t,” Stiles snaps back, with a gentle shoulder check to punctuate the point.

“Stiles,” Derek warns. He doesn’t want Stiles to give up anything for him, because in his head, New York always seemed like the best place in the world for him. Derek feels nervous at the thought that Stiles might not go back to that because of him. He tries not to worry over the knowledge that Stiles suffered terribly in New York the first two years he was there; he's heard more about it from his dad than Stiles himself. He wants to hear everything and learn everything he missed as soon as he can. 

“Derek,” Stiles mocks. “I’m going to hang around for a lot longer. I want to spend time with my dad, Scott, everyone and _you_. You're last though, sorry.”

“Oh yeah?” Derek hooks his thumbs in Stiles’ belt loops to just yank him up close, and enjoys watching his Adam’s apple bob with his breathless gulp.

Derek tells him that he will not kiss on the first date, on principle.   

“What are your opinions on picnics?” Stiles looks deadly serious.

This is when Derek becomes afraid.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'If I had a flower for every time I thought of you... I could walk through my garden forever.'  
> I chose this as Derek's quote because relevant and it has always stuck with me.  
> Thank you for reading <3 xx

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for reading, I'm cracking on with this! This film gives me life and it's just so Sterek and it's all my favourite tropes so...hope some people like it!


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